Chuck & Sarah Vs Themselves
by ninjaVanish
Summary: Prequel to Vs. The Bunker. S3 AU. After Chuck downloads the 2.0, Chuck and Sarah actually start communicating. Also they start double secret dating, while trying to take down the Ring. The Globetrotting adventures of Team Bartowski. With 'splosions.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the prequel to Chuck and Sarah VS. the Bunker, and really, the idea that first got me writing FanFiction. The exact nature of the 'Alternative' in AU should become apparent, fairly quickly.

This first Chapter sets up the major change from canon.

Edit: reader _Jimmy_ noticed that I used the wrong AFB in this chapter. I was visiting my sister and we drove past Hickam Air Force Base, and it oozed into my brain when I wrote this. I have made the proper change.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Windup

* * *

Castle, just after Chuck downloaded Intersect 2.0

"We run away and never look back."

"Sarah..."

"Will you run away with me?"

He started to shake his head, not to say no, just in disbelief. "Yeah."

"Go to the training facility in Prague for now, meet me at the train station in three weeks."

She hugged him, and then it was a whirlwind of SUVs and planes. It was only hours later, on the Gulfstream crossing the country, when he checked his back pocket and found the note.

_**Castle bugged, **_

_**Need to talk privately before Prague.**_

_**Newsarama Account: CBSW1980 **_

_**PW: pineapple**_

_**Use as final line of communication**_

_**Memorize and Destroy note.**_

"What'cha got there moron? Love letter?" Casey said, leaning over the seat in front of Chuck. "No don't tell me. I really don't want to hear any of the gruesome details."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Casey. Its just a note from Morgan reminding me to return a game I borrowed. I forgot I had it." Chuck said, and stuffed the note in his pocket.

Casey grunted, but went back to his seat. Chuck frowned. There wasn't a number for that grunt. Once the Colonel wasn't looking, he took the note back out, crumpled it in his fist and waited, his palm sweat hopefully smudging the ink. He was certainly nervous enough. Chuck glanced around the cabin a touch furtive, hopefully without alerting either of the NSA agents.

Nobody so much as looked up from their crosswords or their newspapers, or their paperbacks when Chuck stood and made his way aft to the bathroom. With the door closed, he opened his hand and smeared the note around on his sweaty palm, waited a minute or so, flushed and held the note under the sink. After he washed the note, he crumpled the soggy paper into a tiny little ball and then twisted the ball apart. The fibers gave way and there was no possible way to reconstruct the note, so Chuck tossed it in the toilet, dried his hands and went back out to his seat.

Chuck couldn't quite wrap his head around what game Sarah was playing. Did she want to run away with him or not? He was becoming frustrated, but tried not to show it. After a fruitless attempt to engage either of the NSA agents in conversation, to Casey's evident amusement, Chuck just sat in his seat and tried to sleep. He actually managed a couple hours.

On the tarmac at Andrews Air Force Base in DC, Chuck turned to Casey. "Well. Now what?"

"We head over to the BOQ, and get some sleep. Next military flight to Prague is tomorrow morning."

"BOQ?" Chuck said.

"Bachelor Officer's Quarters." Casey said. "I'm a Colonel, and you're whatever it is you are, so we're set up pretty good. Get a good night's sleep and off to Prague we go."

"I slept on the plane."

"Sounds like poor decision making on your part."

Chuck grumbled under his breath and Casey laughed. A Staff sergeant drove up in a Jeep. "Colonel Casey? Major Carmichael? I'm your ride."

"Major Carmichael?" Chuck whispered, incredulous.

"Just go with it, Moron." Casey said, throwing his rucksack into the back of the jeep.

The BOQ that the Air Force assigned for Chuck's use was a small two story house. The pair of NSA agents that had been shadowing him since backup had found them in the intersect room back in LA followed him into the house. One of them immediately laid down on the couch, the other sat at the kitchen table and started dealing himself a game of solitaire. Chuck frowned, and the card-playing NSA agent finally deigned to speak to him. "You need anything give a holler. We've got a couple Air Force M.P.s watching the house front and back, they can run and get you some food or something."

"Pizza sounds good."

* * *

Chuck woke up in the dark with a hand across his mouth. "Shh... Don't freak out." He turned and peered into the darkness. Starlight coming in the window framed a halo of luscious blond hair around a familiar face.

"Sarah?" Chuck whispered. "How did you find me? They took my watch."

"I bugged your chucks when we stopped at the motel in Barstow two nights ago." Sarah said. "Think I'm just going to let you run off on your own?"

"Shh." Chuck hissed. "Keep your voice down. There's a bunch of guys downstairs."

Sarah grinned. "I know. I had to climb the trellis while the M.P. had his back turned."

"Is it safe to talk?" Chuck asked.

Sarah put her head down on Chuck's chest and sighed. "Just keep whispering. I checked for bugs, once I got up here, but better safe than sorry."

"So, your note was very cryptic." Chuck whispered. "You think they heard us talking in Castle?"

"They showed us video, complete with audio, of just about every private conversation we thought we'd ever had during the 49B. Of course they were watching. And they'll _be _watching in Prague at the train station. That's why we can't run. At least not yet."

"Sarah. About that. I'm— what about Ellie and Awesome and Morgan? If we ran, I could never see them again."

"I know. It's not a perfect solution. It's not even a good solution. But, I know what the CIA and the NSA are going to want you to be. What they're going to turn you into."

"A real spy, right? What's wrong with that."

"No. Chuck. They're going to try to turn you into Casey. A cold remorseless killer."

Chuck half sat up, dislodging Sarah from her spot. "What!" Chuck said.

"Keep your voice down." Sarah hissed. "I know you don't want that, but that's what they'll try to do."

"You really think I'll turn into Casey, completely shut down emotionally?"

"I'm scared they might get you there. Eventually." Sarah said.

"Even with you there to keep me... you know, me?"

"I don't think they're going to let me. Be there..."

"What do you mean, you're part of the team, I'd never be able to function without you."

"And that's exactly why they're going to try to break us up." Sarah said. "I'm horribly compromised as a handler, and Beckman knows it, Casey knows it. You turning into a full Agent isn't going to change that. Protocol is protocol. Chuck, this is just the way it is. They don't let cops who are dating stay in the same precinct." She shrugged. "I mean. I could request a closer posting, but the closest CIA post is Mexico city at the embassy, and that's Diplomatic cover, not the kind of work I'm used to or that they'll be wanting either of us to do."

"Long distance relationships never work. So then we can't be together unless we run away?"

"Not openly. I'm sorry. There was no way to talk about it beforehand. We need to stage a breakup or _they_'ll break us up. That's what Prague is for. Once its obvious we're no longer together, Beckman will have no reason to try to split us up in the first place, so she won't have to reassign me, at least for a while."

"What do you mean 'a while?'"

"I mean, that when you get to be a 'real' agent, they're going to want you to operate solo. That's what this new intersect is designed for."

"So hang on. Are we really breaking up?"

"Not on your life." Sarah growled. "I don't commit treason for just anyone. That we got away with it is beside the point."

"If we're not breaking up, wait. We're going to be secret undercover dating?"

"Like I said. It's not a perfect plan." Sarah said, leaning on one elbow. "Anyway, if you need to get me a message save it as a PM on that Newsarama account I gave you. That's our last line of communication. You never tell _anyone _about that account, under _any _circumstances. Just be sure you don't use my name, Beckman's name, any keyword that could raise flags in Echelon. And don't send anything from the account, and don't post anything on the boards. From that account. You log on to the website often enough on your main account it shouldn't be suspicious."

"I figured it was going to be something like that." Chuck said. "Anyway. You came all the way to DC to tell me that? I could have figured it out on my own."

Sarah shrugged. "I also got you a present." She dug in her purse.

"You didn't have to get me anything." She glared at him out of the corner of her eye, with a small grin, and handed it over. "A cell phone. Why do I need a cell phone? I already have a cell phone." Chuck quirked an eyebrow. "Is it a super-secret spy-phone?"

"It's a burner." Sarah explained. "Pre-paid, anonymous. I'll keep refilling it for you. But its only for emergencies. If we use the voice function, we'll eventually get spit out of NSA's echelon system's voice recognition, and then have to ditch them. Then when you get a new number, put it in a PM. There's a pretty quick cipher I can teach you, for another layer of security."

"So, no voice. Can I text you?"

"As long as you don't use any names, or any place names, or anything incriminating. Look, again, just steer clear of echelon keywords, and I don't see a problem with it." Sarah said and lay back. She sighed. "I should probably go. I've already been off the grid for six hours. Just remember, we need to sell it in Prague." Sarah stood abruptly and took a step toward the window.

"Hang on, hang on." Chuck said, making a grab for the hem of her coat. Sarah sat back down on the side of the bed. "So, as long as I don't use your name, or my name, I could text you to say..." He leaned in and whispered. Sarah's eyes went wide and she smacked him in the chest.

"Chuck!" She hissed, blushing crimson. But then she thought about it, and Chuck grinned, which only made it worse, because he obviously _knew _she was thinking about it.

"So, that's a yes on the sexting at least." Chuck said.

Sarah pouted briefly. "Don't use that word. It's tacky. I almost forgot. My burner is speed dial #1. You don't put any other numbers in it. You don't call anyone else on it, ever. Clear?"

"Yes, Agent Walker. Perfectly."

"Don't call me that when we're not working."

Chuck winced and sat up. "Okay, Sarah. I'm sorry." He reached out and his hand found hers. "It won't happen again."

Sarah sighed and laced their fingers together, squeezed his hand. "It better not." She shrugged. "Anyway, about that phone. You need to come up with a hiding place, and keep it turned off, with the battery removed if you're not using it. If you go on a mission, remove the SIM card and hide it separately from the phone. They're going to start teaching you some of this stuff, but you need to be ahead of the curve. I'll text you some tips if you're having trouble."

Chuck smiled sadly and brought her hand up to his lips. "Normal's overrated anyway."

Sarah shivered at the touch. "No it isn't." She whispered, and glanced at her watch. "I need to go. Guard shift changes in a couple minutes. That's my window to slip off the base undetected."

"Stay." Chuck whispered.

Sarah looked down briefly and then grinned at him. "That's a really bad idea, Chuck."

"I'm not— I won't try anything. I promise." Chuck said.

Sarah's shoulders shook in laughter. "Goof. I know that. Your NSA guards could walk in on us, and then I'd be reassigned so fast _both _ourheads would spin. If they didn't try to throw me in jail. I suppose I am technically trespassing on government property right now."

"I'm going to slip up eventually." Chuck said. "I can't pretend not to be in love with you forever. You know that? Right? Nobody's that good an actor."

"I know." Sarah said. "If we are going to run, I need more than three weeks to get us all the way gone, for good."

"But... how long could we last, on the run?" Chuck said. "And I don't know that I could handle that anyway."

"Chuck. I know, okay. This is... I plan. I'm a planner. If you want me in your life... the way I want to be in your life, we need to plan. You..." She grinned crookedly. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Not if you don't want to say it, no." Chuck said. "You committed treason for me. If I didn't already know before then, that would have told me."

Sarah frowned, crinkled her nose. "When did you know, then?"

"Stay, and I'll tell you."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I can't stay long. If I miss this shift change, the next one is in two hours."

"Why Sarah, what are you suggesting?" Chuck waggled his eyebrows, and she laughed softly and wrapped him in a hug.

"Not the Bartowski eyebrow dance." Sarah moaned into his neck. "Anything but that."

"I— my god. I told you I love you." Chuck stammered. "I didn't mean to tell you like that. I had it planned out a little better than that."

"Shh..." She said, putting a finger to his lips. "It was still good to hear. I..."

Chuck kissed the side of her neck. "Still can't say it. And that's fine. When you're ready, not a second before."

"Lie down." Sarah shimmied out of her coat and set the alarm clock, before snuggling in next to him. "This is good. For as long as it lasts. You have me, and that's the truth under all the lies. Is that enough for you? For now?"

Chuck blinked back the beginnings of tears. "Of course. I'm sorry if I made you doubt that... I didn't mean to..."

"Shh..." She whispered again. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

"You didn't answer my question." Chuck said finally. "How long could we stay on the run?"

"If we left from Prague in three weeks and managed to shake the surveillance teams staking the place out?" Sarah asked. She felt Chuck's nod. "I don't know. A year, eighteen months. Two years at the outside, as long as we didn't slip up. They'd be dogging our footsteps the whole time. We'd always be running, always afraid to stay in one place for more than a night or two. But there'd be no doubt we were together."

"Two years isn't a long time."

"We'd be together though." She said. "Its more time than some people get with the one they..." Damn it, she still couldn't say it.

Chuck stroked his fingers through her hair, brushed loose strands off her cheek. He rubbed his thumb gently across her lips. "I know, Sarah. Maybe its me. Maybe I'm just greedy."

"It's not _just_ you." She said, putting her head down and smiling against his chest. "In forty years, I want to be able to grab your ass and gross out our grandkids any time I get the itch."

"I have no problem with that plan. Just don't squeeze too hard and break my hip." Chuck said. "You know how fragile us old fogies can be."

"Uh-huh. I can be gentle." Sarah said into his chest.

Chuck sighed. "How is this going to work? I'm going to have to sell Ellie on the breakup? What about Awesome? He knows things..."

"Everybody, Awesome included." Sarah said. "When— if Casey and Beckman figure this out, it needs to seem like we had a relapse, not like we've been faking the breakup the whole time. That's the only way we can salvage the time to run."

"So now that we're finally, really going out, I can't tell anybody, ever?" Chuck said. "I kind of want to shout it from the rooftops."

"Maybe keep that to a minimum if you want to stay out of a bunker." Sarah murmured. "Are we just going to talk, or are you going to try something?"

"I told you I wasn't going to try anything."

Sarah writhed around so she could look down on him, frowning in disappointment. "I thought you were joking."

"This isn't the most romantic situation to... You know." Chuck said. "I can't tell Morgan, ever?"

"On our twentieth wedding anniversary, you can tell anyone you want if its still bugging you." Sarah said. And then she tensed once she realized what she said.

"Um... we haven't talked about... I... um. This is awkward. You want to get married... I thought we were joking about the grandkids thing. Aren't we moving a little fast?"

"You want to keep it, you're going to have to put a ring on it." Sarah said, poking him in the chest. "We've been in limbo for more than two years. Most couples would at least be discussing it."

"Buh... ha... I..."

Sarah grumbled something under her breath and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shook him by it. "Snap out of it. Eventually. Eventually, Chuck. Like Ellie is _eventually_ going to have a conniption if we 'break up' and still 'hang out' all the time when we're on missions... and you don't get a new girlfrie—"

"Oh no way. You're not making me get a new cover girlfriend while we're secret under-cover dating." Chuck said heatedly. "That would be too weird, even for us."

"It might become necessary."

"Sarah, come on." Chuck said. "I'm not going to fake cheat on my not-ex-girlfriend that... It's so complicated I can't even figure out how to start to tell you about it. And you're the one person who should understand what I'm—"

"Shhh..." She said again, putting a finger to his lips. "You're babbling. It probably won't even come to that."

"Probably. That's not very reassuring."

"Just shhh... We can figure the rest out later. I just had to make sure we were on the same page for Prague. You're not a very good pillow right now." Sarah said and pulled herself up him, crushed her chest into him and kissed him briefly but passionately. "And you talked me into a nap." She whispered, lips still almost brushing his. "So, shush." Chuck smiled, put his arms around her, and they drifted off.

* * *

When he woke, there was just a cold space in the bed where Sarah had been. Chuck had a brief shivering feeling that he had imagined the whole thing. But there on the nightstand, held down by the disposable phone she'd brought him, was a brief note.

_**Still can't say it. Can't even write it down.**_

_**But I'm glad you know. Thank you.**_

_**SW**_

_**Destroy this note.**_

Chuck put the note in the sink while he lathered up to shave. Once he got out of the shower the note was completely dissolved and he fished the bits and pieces out into the trash. This was getting ridiculous. He went back into the bedroom and grabbed the burner off the nightstand.

**getting tired of destroying your notes**

A minute or so passed before Sarah responded.

**:( **

That was all. Chuck rolled his eyes and started texting back, when there was a pounding on the door, and Casey's voice came through. "Time to wake up, Moron." Chuck slipped the burner in his back pocket and opened the door. Casey jumped back. "Whoa. You're up early."

"I'm excited."

"Well stop it. You're creeping me out. I'm used to you sleeping until noon every chance you get." Casey growled. "You got all your crap? Cleaner team's going to burn everything once we leave."

"That's reassuring." Chuck said, echoing his sentiments from earlier that morning.

"They don't pay me to reassure you, Moron. They pay me to blow stuff up."

"Really. There's an explosives bonus clause in your contract?" Chuck grinned. "That explains so very _many_ things."

Casey grunted. "Shut up, Bartowski."

At least that hadn't changed.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter takes us through sort of a behind the scenes version of the first few Episodes, from here things will start to diverge more and more. Just a bit of business that needs to happen before I get on with the alternate missions necessitated by the Alternate Universe.

Disclaimer: Don't own chuck, other assorted things.

Chapter 2:

An hour after he left her on the platform in Prague, he got a text on his burner.

**Nicely done. Sorry I didn't warn you about the waterworks.**

**I let myself think it was real. Kisses.**

Chuck frowned. Really. Kisses? What, did she just completely miss the last decade of youth culture? Even XOXO was dated, but kisses? After a moment, he grunted. Of course she was out of date. The CIA had seen to that. That was why she wanted him to run away with her, so they didn't do the same to him. Chuck used the wireless internet at the coffee shop to pull up a quick google search, and sent her a link.

**w w w . texting_dictionary . c o m**

He ordered a coffee, and then the burner buzzed again.

**:-p**

Sarah must have looked at the link a little. But his response wasn't that difficult to figure out anyway.

**ILU**

This response took a little longer.

**Then finish up there and get home**

Chuck's response was a no-brainer.

**Yes'm. Anything you say, absolutely.**

* * *

Five months later:

Newsarama Account CBSW1980, Private message saved drafts folder:

SW,

DB fired me. New skills too unpredictable without you there. !Don't know how to fix this! Need to see you. Why won't you answer my texts? I called your main line, and the burner. RUOK?

CB.

Three weeks later:

CB,

I heard about the firing through other channels. Assigned new mission, have to play scumbag's armcandy. Try not to think about it. I'm so sorry. Just... I'm sorry. Had to ditch both phones to maintain cover. Couldn't risk being seen answering burner. Ditch yours. Will replace later. Sorry. Need to see you too, couldn't get access to a computer without breaking cover until now. JC is prepping the takedown tonite. Go to hq, snoop around, find the location and party crash. We'll figure it out as we go.

SW.

Back from being kidnapped to Mexico:

CB,

Sorry about the slap. Sorry I yelled at you. You need to act more needy and try to get me 'back,' to convince BM crew, and others we're actually broken up. DB and JC mostly convinced. Spotted JC watching the film of P incident. Grunt #7. Skeptical/Sarcastic, right?

SW.

After the housewarming party:

SW,

That's the one. What's up with CM, or can you tell me on here?

CB.

CB,

CM gave me video of you in the vault. Rly sweet, but try to confine the confessions to non-surveilled comms in future.

SW.

SW,

Sorry. Gas lowered my defenses. You said be more needy, though right? But, I do love you. And CM says you're in love with me. :D Didn't need confirmation, just need to hold you. When?

CB.

CB,

Soon. Promise.

SW.

Immediately Following the Costa Gravas mission:

CB,

Stop by for 'Just Friends' conversation in OO ASAP. Should give you excuse to drop by my place briefly in future. BRIEFLY.

SW.

* * *

Sarah opened the door to her hotel room, beaming. She stuck her head out into the hall, checking in both directions briefly before hauling Chuck into her room by the tie and kicking the door closed and kissing him within an inch of his life. He pulled away at last, gasping for breath. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"You didn't slip once."

"You kidding? I slipped like twenty times. And that handshake in the Orange Orange went on about ten seconds too long."

"Mmm..." Sarah said. "Well you should have said something. Now I have to take that kiss back."

"How are you going to—mmf!" Sarah shoved him back into the door with an audible thump, grabbed a handful of hair on either side of his head and tugged his mouth down to hers. She molded her body to his and ravaged his mouth with her tongue for longer than Chuck could really hold his breath for. He was dizzy and lightheaded and he couldn't pull away, physically because she had him pressed up against the door. Finally satisfied, she shoved herself out to arm's length and gasped in a lungful of air.

"There. Even-Steven." She panted.

"I don't think it works that way." Chuck said breathlessly when he recovered after a minute or two.

Sarah quirked an eyebrow. "Really. And you know this from your vast experience of under-cover dating incentives?"

Chuck frowned and lowered his brows. "There's not a _right_ answer to that question is there?"

Sarah smiled that reluctant grin of hers. "Probably not. I do that sometimes."

"Good to know."

Sarah glanced at her watch and groaned. "Kiss took up most of our time. Dammit."

"What?"

"Here. New burner. Same deal as before." She slipped the phone into his back pocket and wrapped him in her arms briefly. "Now, you should probably go, or we'll have to explain the GPS logs to Casey."

"One for the road?" Chuck asked hopefully.

Sarah grinned and tugged him down by his tie. "Of course."

Chuck had only been gone twenty minutes when she got the call that Devon had been kidnapped by the ring.

* * *

After Chuck's first Solo Mish:

Chuck was getting ready for bed when his burner started buzzing. He grabbed his pants and took both phones out, keeping the iPhone on top so the cameras wouldn't pick up the burner and went into the bathroom. It wasn't that out of the ordinary, Casey was probably well accustomed to Chuck playing iPhone games on the toilet by this point.

**S: Who's the new nerd herder?**

**C: She was on the plane. Name's Hannah.**

**S: She followed you from France! I'm running a background check on her. And no names.**

**C: You find anything? She keeps trying to flirt with me.**

**S: Flirt back.**

**C: What!**

**S: We talked about this. If you don't, it'll raise JC's suspicions.**

**C: No. I refuse.**

**S: Background check inconclusive. We need to know more.**

**C: Fine, but if this turns weird I told you so.**

**S: Fine.**

* * *

After Burning Manoosh:

The plane ride back to Burbank from Weapcon was chilly. Casey was watching them like a hawk, and Sarah couldn't do anything to compromise their cover by holding hands with him, or giving him a hug or any of the brief comforting gestures she would have liked to give him. Or, when it came down to it, any of the not so brief ones. Chuck was still fiddling with that laser-pen, until Casey snatched it away from him with a grumbled, "Moron."

Once they finally turned Manoosh over to his new handler and Casey had sent Chuck home with orders to buy a bottle of Johnny Walker Black, only then did Sarah have the chance to text him from the privacy of the bathroom at Castle.

**S: How are you doing with the M sitch? I know it can't have been easy.**

**C: Not great. I'm going to go get drunk right now, like JC said.**

**C: Turning off phone so I don't drunk dial you. :-(**

**S: I use ice cream. Try that too.**

**C: Can you come over?**

**S: Did you figure out how to spoof JC's cams yet?**

**C: :-(**

**S: :-P**

Sarah watched him from the monitors in Castle, wishing she could drop everything and just go to him. Be with him. But she had a meeting with the best forger in LA later tonight, and she'd already had to reschedule because of missions twice. The plan couldn't afford any more hiccups. They needed to be ready to run, soon.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Rewatching Vs. The Beard made me decide to post this early. I'm running through Chapters that are ready to post faster than I can write them. So...

Anyway. Okay, we're starting to diverge from Season 3 a little more here. For example, Shaw being stuck in DC in protective custody makes for a much smoother working environment this chapter. Sort of.

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Chuck.

Chapter 3:

Buymore: The next day, late afternoon.

Casey grunted a greeting to Chuck just as he was trying to explain something about Buymore protocol to Hannah. She kept giving him these little hints that she was into him. He wasn't oblivious, he was just trying to act like it, oh, and mention Sarah! Chuck just wasn't up to flirting back like Sarah suggested. Or ordered. Chuck wasn't exactly sure what the protocol there was. He was afraid where that might lead.

"Yeah, that's really funny." He hadn't actually been paying attention, but it was a safe segue into his Sarah-dote. "Sarah used to do this thing where she'd stick straws in her mouth like walrus tusks and come in and pretend to attack me when she got bored at work. That was so cute."

It wasn't awkward at all. If your definition of awkward was flat-out insane and different from the real one. Casey frowned at the exchange and his eyes darted back and forth between Chuck and Hannah. "Yogurt time?" Chuck asked, trying to keep the hopeful tinge out of his voice.

Casey glanced at him oddly, grunted. It was that same grunt he remembered from before, the plane to DC, that Chuck didn't have a number for. He still didn't know how to categorize it, though numerically it was now the number 27. "Ten minutes." Casey said and walked off to try to move another grill. They were out of BeastMasters until the truck on Thursday, but the lower tier Grillstar was still a decent commission.

Hannah rolled her eyes. "You really need to give up on the ex, Chuck. It's not happening."

"What are you talking about?"

Hannah leaned close and whispered. "I think she's got a thing for Casey. The only times I see her in here she's always chatting him up."

Chuck almost choked trying to keep from bursting out laughing. He bent over and had to put a hand down on the ground. Hannah leaned over the Nerd Herd desk to peer at him in concern.

"Are you alright? I thought you knew."

Chuck wracked his brain for a way to explain his behavior without blowing somebody's cover in some way shape or form. "I... He's my friend. Casey wouldn't do that." Chuck said, voice rough from keeping in his laughter, but hopefully it could be mistaken for a different emotion.

Hannah crossed her arms and glared at him. "Denial isn't healthy."

"I'm not in denial." Chuck said, still trying not to laugh.

Hannah just arched an eyebrow. "Then why don't you go talk to Casey about it?"

Chuck swallowed. Really? "Uh, he's with a customer."

"Then you need to confront the Yogurt girl."

"Oh that's a bad idea on about fifty different levels."

"You want me to talk to her? She really shouldn't be trying to date your friends." Hannah said. "That's really above and beyond the call of bitchiness." Chuck froze for a moment, imagining Sarah being confronted by Hannah for trying to date Casey. It would be bone-shakingly funny, eventually. But right at the moment, it was the scariest thought he'd ever imagined. And then he thought that Call of Bitchiness sounded like a weird Call of Duty spin-off that Morgan would end up obsessed with.

"No, you're right." Chuck managed to get out past the frog in his throat. "I should talk to her."

* * *

When Chuck walked into the Orange Orange, Sarah's eyes did an odd little dance. They brightened up at the sight of him in a familiar, reassuring manner, but then narrowed and she furrowed her brow, arched an eyebrow. The agent's mask slipping back into place. Her incessant cleaning of the counter stuttered at the sight of him, then continued.

"Hey." She said, in her standard noncommittal 'just for the audio bugs' tone.

Chuck glanced around the yogurt shop. There were actually a couple of people sitting around talking. "We should talk, privately."

Sarah's mask of disapproving agent didn't slip much. "I think that's a bad idea. The briefing isn't for another ten minutes."

"Hannah sent me."

Both Sarah's eyebrows went up, and the mask slipped entirely for a moment. Her eyes were hollow, vulnerable for a moment. He could see the walls coming up, hardening, in case he was going to hurt her here. "Am I really going to want to hear this?"

Chuck grinned, trying to take away any doubts she had. "She thinks I need to confront you about the new man in your life."

Sarah grunted and tossed down the rag she'd been cleaning with. She shrugged. "Okay. I'll bite. What new man?"

"Casey." Chuck said, raising his eyebrows.

Sarah stood stock still for a moment, and he could see the wheels turning, going from concerned, wounded to confounded for a brief moment, then hilarity. She burst out laughing, threw her head back and almost fell right over. She barely managed to catch herself with a hand to the counter, but her legs wouldn't support her weight at the moment and she sat down on the floor, tears of laughter forming at the corner of her eyes. The customers stood up, to stare at her. Chuck shrugged nonchalantly.

"What can I say? I'm a funny guy." He said loudly, for the whole Orange Orange to hear, but he could feel himself blushing. Most of the customers felt the awkward in the air and slipped out.

After a minute or two she managed to get the wheezing laughter under control, and looked up at him from her seat on the cool linoleum. "Oh god, that's not funny." She said. "I mean it is, it's hilarious but.. Oh hell." The realization hit her.

Chuck leaned over the counter. "That's what I said. If you're not careful, you might find yourself in a new cover relationship, Ms. Walker." He said softly so it wouldn't carry to the single customer who hadn't fled at her fit of laughter. "But this time, with Johnny McReagan over there."

Sarah tried to stifle a laugh, but only succeeded in turning it into a snort. A cute snort, which wasn't helping things. "Now I see why you wanted to talk in private. Come on."

* * *

Down in Castle, once they'd outlasted the final yogurt eater, Sarah still couldn't get over Hannah's mistake. "Casey? Really?" She said. "I mean, I guess the shoulders could do it for some girls, but... Has she actually talked to him? I mean at all, not just about this?"

"I don't think so, Casey would have--"

"Casey would have what?" The Colonel said as he strode down the staircase.

Chuck grinned. "Apparently, you would have gone after my ex-girlfriend." Chuck said, scandalized. "What happened to the bro code, John?" Sarah hid her laugh behind a hand.

"Okay, what?" Casey grunted. "I feel like I just walked into the movie halfway through, here."

"Hannah thinks we're..." Sarah didn't know how to finish the thought, and made an awkward hand gesture in lieu of words. Casey seemed to get it after a while.

"She... Oh crap." Casey growled. "I... who has she told? Bartowski, obviously. Who else? This is worse than when Beckman wanted me to be Carina's 'father.'" He shuddered, and the screen beeped a couple of times before Beckman and Shaw popped up on screen.

"Is something wrong Colonel?" The General wanted to know.

"Uh. No, General Beckman. Just." Casey struggled for words briefly before biting the bullet. Though he still seemed to have trouble stringing the words together normally. "Just a potential complication. The new nerd herd employee thinks that... Agent Walker and I are... involved in an... illicit relationship."

Beckman's eyebrows rose. So did Shaw's. "Aren't you a little old for her, Colonel?" Shaw asked, with a hint of a smirk.

Casey growled under his breath. Beckman sighed. "I assume, Agent Walker, that you have not started a romantic relationship with Colonel Casey?"

"You really have to ask?" Sarah grumbled spots of color in her cheeks.

"In point of fact, I do." Beckman said. "Your history being what it is."

Sarah's eyes narrowed indignantly and she opened her mouth to object, but Chuck beat her to the punch.

"General, I think you called this briefing for a reason. I can only assume that it wasn't to discuss the team dynamic." Chuck said. "Nobody's dating anyone on the team to my knowledge. Do we have a mission?"

Beckman pursed her lips, a little shocked to be brought back on task by _Bartowski _of all people.

Shaw grinned a little behind Beckman's back. "That's good Chuck. Those kinds of attachments within a team are always messy, not to mention getting people killed." He said. "Anyway the mission is fairly straightforward. We should only need the intersect in an observational capacity. The Ring is smuggling something in this." A picture pushed Beckman and Shaw out to splitscreen. "The mask of Alexander. There was an attempt to steal the Mask in Damascus, however we believe the 'failure' was staged. The Ring replaced the Mask with a counterfeit in an effort to smuggle something into the country."

Beckman's section of the screen widened back out. "Normally Agent Shaw would go on this mission himself, but given his current status, with the Ring thinking he's dead..." She said. "The Deputy Director Ops and I think its safer if he stay on the sidelines here in DC. Chuck, you'll go in as Nerd Herd and loop the cameras in the vault. The Museum has been having problems with security thanks to our friends down in Science and Technology at the CIA. They've hacked a back door into the museum's security system, so that you should be able to run things remotely even if things don't go according to plan. The curator is desperate that the unveiling tonight go according to plan. He should be making the call any minute to the Buymore."

Shaw cleared his throat and stepped in. "Casey and Sarah will infiltrate the vault and replace the mask with a replica. Easy as can be. Chuck, you stay in the security center and make sure there are no Ring operatives on site. If you flash alert Casey and Sarah, then get out of there."

* * *

It wasn't that easy of course. "Hey Chuck, where are you going?" Morgan asked as Chuck was packing up his toolkit for the mission.

"Off-site install. You know how it is." Chuck said, and shrugged. Hannah perked up from behind Morgan.

"Off-site install?" She said chirpily. "I really need to get out in the field, you know?"

"Yeah, take the lovely Hannah along." Morgan said, and gave her the Grimes patented dopey eyes. They seemed to have no effect. Again. Dammit. Why had he bothered patenting them in the first place?

"I don't know that that's a good idea buddy. This is a big client and-- no offense, Hannah-- I want to make sure everything goes off without a hitch." Chuck said. Hannah frowned and Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Could you give us a minute, Hannah." He quirked a finger at Chuck, motioning him aside. "Look, buddy. Hannah's something like three times too qualified for this job, okay? She needs to get her first kill under her belt, so take her along."

"First kill?" Chuck said, flabbergasted.

"You know what I mean." Morgan said. "I hate to pull rank on you, Dude. But Assistant Store Manager totally outranks Nerd Herd Supervisor. So..."

"You're actually--"

"That's right. I'm _ordering_ you to take Hannah along on this install." This wasn't going to end well.

* * *

Chuck tossed Hannah the keys and grabbed both of their laptops. While she was unlocking the door, he switched them. On the drive over, he logged onto Hannah's laptop, and did some quick coding, just in case. He logged off the administrator account and put the laptop back down in the cargo area by his feet. She didn't appear to have noticed that it was her laptop he'd been fiddling with.

Once he tugged out his iPhone, he froze. Hannah might notice her contact picture if she saw him texting Sarah, or Casey for that matter. Given what she thought was going on between the two of them, a text to either of his handlers would be difficult to explain. And he couldn't use the burner with Hannah in the Nerd Herder with him. For that matter, Sarah couldn't answer her burner safely while she was still in the van with Casey. Hell. He was going to need that backup code after all. Damn it. They weren't planning on Hannah being in the room with him and he had no way of contacting them without raising suspicions.

Hannah parked the Nerd Herder and handed him the keys. "So did you talk to Sarah?"

Chuck put off answering her as long as possible, but eventually he closed the door and handed Hannah her laptop back. "Huh. Oh, right. Yeah, no."

"Which one is it, Chuck. Yeah or no?"

"Yeah, I talked to her. But not about..."

Hannah rolled her eyes and brushed her hair out of her face unconsciously.

The Curator met them at the door, cutting off anything else. "Good, excellent." That echoed Chuck's sentiments at having the awkward talk with Hannah cut short. Any talk with Hannah seemed to be awkward now. "Thank God you're here. Security is right through here."

While Chuck and Hannah set up, he could feel the Curator's eyes on the back of his head. It freaked him out a little. "Do you mind not standing directly behind me? What exactly is the problem?"

"Our access codes keep changing without us changing them. Somebody's in our system." The curator said. "I need you to get them out again."

"Okay." Chuck said. "Hannah, could you run a full system diagnostic?"

"That'll take like half an hour," She complained. Damn it, he needed to find a way to keep her busy so he could find time to talk to Sarah or Casey. "Chuck it might be something simple and we could be out of here."

"I know, I'm working on that. We've got two people, we might as well make use of them." The Curator was still standing directly behind Chuck. "Do you mind? You're still kind of freaking me out."

"Sorry, sorry. I'll stop hovering. I need a drink anyway."

Once the curator was out the door, Hannah started in again. Chuck was halfway through remote accessing the vault cameras when she distracted him.

"You're still in love with her, despite everything. Aren't you?" Hannah asked.

"No." Chuck lied through his teeth, because Sarah was making him, and finished his work. "No, you were..." He had to force the words out. "You were right, it's over."

She turned in her chair. "Can you keep a secret, Chuck?"

"Huh? Uh, uh... yeah. It's kind of my forte." Chuck said, trying to keep it light.

"Do you want to know the real reason I took this job?"

"Was it the snazzy outfits?" He said. "No, it was the barely livable wage."

She leaned in closer. "It was you."

"Oh."

"It's not like I haven't been giving you signals. I hope this isn't too forward." Crap crap crap. And then she was kissing him. It was dragging on longer than he really should have allowed. Flirting was one thing, but he had to assume Sarah would have _issues_ with this. Violent scary issues. He grinned. Just the thought of Jealous-Sarah was.. exactly the wrong thing to be thinking about with Hannah kissing him! Danger Will Robinson!

He thought of the least sexy thing he could, and a line from Austin Powers popped into his head. Margaret Thatcher on a cold day. It worked. And he pulled out of the kiss. The look on Hannah's face was odd. Had she noticed his reluctance?

"Is that Sarah? It is. I told you she was seeing Casey. Look." Chuck did, and the flash hit him. Crap crap crap.

* * *

Chuck ran out in search of Casey and Sarah, giving Hannah a lame excuse about confronting Casey. He pulled his iPhone and ran his custom Museum Security disruptor app, knocking out all the cameras. Probably better if Hannah didn't see Team Bartowski in mission mode. Casey spotted him first. "What the hell are you doing here Bartowski?"

"The Ring Agent who tried to steal the mask in Damascus, is here. And by here, I mean right in this room here." He tried to point unobtrusively. Sarah rolled her eyes and both spies darted glances over their shoulders. "His name is Vasilis."

Casey grunted. "I recognize one of the goons. Real old school KGB legbreaker. We can't leave these guys running loose. Walker, you and Bartowski go after the mask. I'll go get Lucretia from the van and take care of the Ring." And then it was just the two of them standing in the museum ballroom.

"Hey, partner." Chuck said.

Sarah grinned.

"Who's Lucretia?" Chuck asked.

"Casey's grenade launcher." Sarah explained.

"Grenade launcher!" Chuck sputtered.

Sarah shrugged. "He probably wouldn't use it in such a confined space, with all these civilians around."

"Probably?"

Sarah thought about it for a moment. "We should probably. Hang on." She put her finger to her earpiece and they ducked through the access door on their way to the top of the vault. "Casey." She said, like talking to a small boy.

"I know, I know." He replied. "No Lucretia. Dammit."

"It's okay, he's not going to blow them up."

"Well hooray!" Chuck held open the door to the room above the vault. Sarah used the opportunity of brushing by him to get a sniff of her Chuck, and stopped dead.

"Why do you smell like ladies' perfume?" She said, glaring daggers at him.

Chuck loosened his collar. "Uh, yeah. About that. Hannah tagged along and she kind of kissed me. And I know this is beneath me, but. I told you so. I did. I told you so."

Sarah scowled. "Put on your harness. We'll talk about this later."

Chuck swallowed and started trying to put on the harness. "What's up with this Shaw guy?" Chuck said, for lack of any topic _not _likely to set her off into a rage spiral.

"I don't know." Sarah replied, obviously having a much easier time with her harness than he was, and glad of the distraction from Hannah. "I think he's trying to drive a wedge between the team, but I can't figure out why. You remember all that talk about attachments leading to weakness?"

"Boy do I ever." Chuck said, frowning a little. "Do you really believe that?"

"When we're working together in the field?" She said. "Maybe a little, sometimes. But I don't care. Bryce was wrong sixteen months ago. Shaw's wrong now."

"Maybe we should back off a little anyway."

"From what? We've barely seen each other outside of missions lately as it is. You don't get to break up with me for real unless I kill one of your relatives or something _crazy_. This is about Hannah isn't it?"

"No, of course not."

Sarah frowned at him and he shrugged. "She followed me all the way to Burbank and I don't know how to deal with that."

"Well, she's definitely your type." Sarah grumbled. "Lousy brunettes throwing themselves at you..."

"Hey, that's not fair. _You_'re my whole type." Chuck said. "If I even have a 'type' its the 'girl-with-secret-she-can't-tell-me-or-fear-legal-repercussions' type. Only most of the women in my life have turned out to be either spies or sausage smugglers. So if everything goes to form, Hannah's probably some kind of assassin."

"Really?" Sarah said, eyes brightening. "That would make things _so_ much easier." Chuck's iPhone beeped."What's that?"

Chuck fiddled with the screen. "Hannah's trying to get the system back online. Lucky I put in a trapdoor on her laptop on the drive over. He hit a couple of options. "There. She's locked out for now. Back to Shaw, what's going on there with him. I'm not sure I like him and Beckman on the TV screen together. I feel like they're planning something. You figured out anything about him?"

"I got a hold of his file through back channels. Something happened a few years ago. Doesn't say what, but his psych evals all agree, he's... I don't know. Broken a little bit... Maybe burnt out like Casey. I don't know. Still, he's the best resource we have for help taking down the Ring."

"You think that's going to happen to me? Burnt out, emotionless?" Chuck said.

Sarah finished strapping herself in and turned to help him with his. "No, I know it's going to happen to you, or me, or both of us, unless we figure something out. Being a spy isn't a long term profession Chuck, It's..." Her hands fiddled idly with the buckles across his chest. "You've never really seen how bad things can get. If I lost you? It... I don't know I'd be able to come back from it, even if you just lost your innocence and it was because of me."

"I've seen people being tortured, Sarah, I know what could happen out there to you, or to me." Chuck said, and linked his fingers with hers. "Why do you think I freak out all the time. I know, intellectually I know, that you can take care of yourself. But, maybe I'm being a male chauvinist pig here, and you're welcome to kick my ass, if I am, but... as a man, it kills me to know you're in danger and I might not be able to help because I can't risk the intersect falling into the wrong hands or something. I hate that you make me promise to do that, to let you take the big risks. I hate it."

"You're not being a pig." Sarah said. She kissed his knuckles and grinned up at him. "Well, maybe a little. But I don't mind it on you. You're safe from the ass-kicking. As long as you keep this Hannah girl at arm's length from now on."

"Believe me I'm trying." Chuck said, eyes wide and innocent. "But I don't have the smoking-hot-girlfriend excuse to fall back on anymore. And intentionally driving away women is a little outside of my wheelhouse. Unintentionally though? That I can do."

Sarah thought about it. "Maybe that could work. Talk about me all the time. It's what you did after the debacle with the J-word, right?"

"I've been trying! And it's not like you aren't always on my mind anyway." Chuck said. "But maybe you're right. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone."

Sarah's watch started beeping.

"What's that?"

"We've been on radio silence for five minutes. We need to report in."

"Right. Game faces on." Chuck nodded.

"Casey?" Sarah said, keying her mic. "We're ready. Chuck's going to lower me down into the vault."

"I never really thought about that part of the plan, Walker. Maybe _you_ should lower _him_ down." The Colonel said.

"Thanks for that Casey." Chuck grumbled. "How'd it go with Lucretia?"

"I've got them tranqed in the back of the Van. Was a bitch and a half getting them out of the museum unseen, but I did it. You must be rubbing off on me. Lucretia can be a bit noisy. Get moving. The screens in here look like Hannah's close to getting back into the system. You've got maybe another five minutes."

"Right." Sarah said. "Okay Chuck, we've got a mask to steal."

* * *

After the briefing on the successful mission, some NSA cleaners stopped by Castle and took Vasilis and his men away, and Casey left with them. Sarah stopped Chuck at the stairs. "Hey."

"Hey." Chuck said. "Look I'm sorry ab--" He cut off at the fierce look on her face.

Sarah darted her eyes upward toward the closest camera in the main area of Castle. "No, _I'm_ sorry." She said. Her face gave nothing away, but her eyes spoke volumes. She was not sorry. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that about Hannah."

Chuck nodded slightly. That was obviously just for the cameras. "You sure you're okay with..."

Her eyes flashed, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was _not _okay with that, but she nodded almost immediately. "Yeah. You deserve to be with someone who likes you for you." And that was just ambiguous enough for him to take both meanings.

* * *

Morgan texted him, and Chuck stopped off for some milk on the way home. On the way out of the convenience store, he noticed a familiar Porsche a couple of spots down from the Nerd Herder. The window rolled down. A familiar blond head poked out. "Hey." She said, and this time, it was a whole different word. "Get in."

Chuck did as he was told. "So, what's up. I know I kind of screwed the pooch earlier."

"Relax, that's not why I'm here. This is why." She grabbed him by the collar with both hands and yanked him halfway out of his seat into hers. The gearshift dug into his ribs, but he couldn't really make himself care.

Sarah pulled out of the kiss before Chuck would have liked, pushed him back into his seat, and smacked her lips. "Ugh. Still tastes like brunette. I may have to throw this one back." He tried to tug her back in for another kiss, but Sarah put up a hand to stop him. "Come on. We don't have a lot of time, so first things first, if Hannah's still sniffing around we need to figure out a way to fix that. If you have to kiss her again, fine, but nothing more, got it?" She drove a finger into his chest like a knife to punctuate things. Chuck gulped and nodded, as always, equal parts turned on and scared witless by Agent Sarah Walker in full bloom. "Good. That and we have to talk about that slip up. In Castle, in the buymore, even at your place, everywhere we ever go, you've always got to watch what you say, who you're saying it to, who could be listening, what Casey and Beckman can figure out from what you say when they watch the surveillance tapes. We've been doing good since Awesome's been out of danger, but we can't afford a mistake."

"But what if I do screw up again and you can't cover for it? If they try to reassign you or replace you or put me in a bunker?"

"Then?" Sarah squeezed his hand tight. "Then we run."

"But... You said we weren't ready. The plan. You said we wouldn't make it more than..."

"We run." Sarah said roughly. "This is all _your_ fault anyway, worming your way in until I can't live without you, so yes. Even though if we run, chances are we'll only have a couple of years before they catch us. But two years with you is better than fifty knowing I can't have you."

Chuck was trying to hold in the biggest smile in his life. He was actually slightly worried that his face would literally break if he let it out.

"What?" Sarah said, "What did I say that's so damn funny."

"Not funny. Sweet. I love you too Sarah."

"I never said..."

"Yeah, but I figured that's what you were trying to say. You don't have to say it straight out. You never have to say it if you don't want to." But his lips twitched up at the corners. "You can't live without me?"

Sarah flushed and tucked her hair behind her ear, looked away briefly. Of course that's what would stick in his brain out of her little speech. "That's why we can't mess up. Getting married would make it harder for Beckman to keep us apart. Spouses have special exemptions from a couple of things. They couldn't legally just throw you in a bunker without giving me the option of coming along at least. Also, I wouldn't have to seduce anyone on the job ever again. But I don't want to get married for legal reasons."

"Me either Sarah. Wait, never again?" He brightened at the thought, but then shook his head. No getting distracted. "Look, if we can't talk freely anywhere, how is this going to work? I don't know if I can handle this whole thing if we can't..."

"I sweep my car for bugs every day, Chuck. We can talk here. And, I sweep my apartment every time I come home just to be safe. So, when you come over to my place for a just friends visit, we can talk. We can cuddle, or whatever without--" Sarah cut off at a sudden burst of the Bartowski eyebrow dance. "What's? What did I say this time? Why the eyebrows?"

"Whatever?" Chuck said with a smirk. "Exactly what does that entail? I don't want to make a move and get a roundhouse kick to the face or something."

Sarah snorted. "Trust me, I think you're safe from violence no matter _what_ moves you try to put on me." She bit her lip and her eyes drifted down to his lips.

"Interesting..." Chuck breathed, his imagination getting the better of him.

"Hey, stop distracting me." She grumbled. He put on a serious face for a moment, then resumed the eyebrow waggling. "Don't push your luck." She said. And then she slapped him. Hard.

"Ow, what the hell, Sarah?"

"That's so you'll be grumpy for Casey and the cameras when you get home." She blushed and shrugged. "Also maybe a little for the whole Hannah thing. Now get out, I have to go steal the security tapes for the parking lot just to be safe."

"I'm not going to slap _you_ to get you mad for the cameras."

"Well, good. I don't really need--"

"In the spirit of getting you right and properly angry with me, I will however attempt to steal third." He said, licking his fingers and shifting in his seat.

"What are you— CHUCK!"

* * *

He was still nursing his tender cheek from the second slap when he got back to his apartment. Chuck realized in hindsight--like he realized a lot of things--that he had been _really _pushing his luck. Safe from violence his foot! And sure, Sarah had kissed the giant red hand-print she'd left to make it better, but that had still been one _hell_ of a slap. In the future he was going to ask _specifically _what she meant when she said things like that.

And Hannah was waiting for him by the fountain when he got home. Dammit. If she would just turn out to be a crazy assassin he would feel so much better about leading her on like this. Not about that kiss in the museum security station, though. Nothing could make that seem anything less than a bad decision.

"Where'd you go?" She said. "You went off to confront Casey and poof. I was worried I'd find you dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Oh, right. Yeah, we got into a big big fight--er argument. Like I'd last ten seconds in a fight with Casey." Chuck let out a nervous laugh and wiped his palms on his work pants. "Right, anyway, but I think we worked most of it out. I drove to the beach afterwards to get my head straight. I shouldn't have just left you there like that."

"That's okay. I only came over to make sure you were alright." She looked up at him through her lashes, bit her lower lip. "You mind if I come in?"

"Oh uh... sure." Chuck swallowed nervously. Crap crap crap. Sarah did _not _have a contingency for this. Damn Hannah's persistence! This was not going to end well for him, he could already tell.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N 2: Next chapter, _The Awkwardest Night Ever!_ AKA Charah addresses this Hannah situation. With nightvision goggles.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is super ridiculous, and also very creepy. But I thought Chuck and Hannah was ridiculous and a little creepy. Hopefully enjoyable ridiculousness and funny levels of creepiness.

Chapter 4: The Awkwardest Night Ever!

Sarah was in the shower, and barely heard the burner go off. She wrapped her head in a towel and scooped up the phone. Another text came in just as she picked it up.

_**H. moving faster than anticipated. **_

_**Convinced her I didn't have any condoms as an excuse to get out of there.**_

_**HELP!**_

"Fuck." Sarah growled under her breath, narrowed her eyes and started typing furiously one handed while she dug her iPhone out of her purse and loaded her ChuckDar app. Good, he was only a couple minutes from her hotel room. If she didn't worry about red lights. Or breaking 100 on surface streets.

_**Stay where you are. **_

_**Do NOT go home until we meet!**_

_**I'll be there in five minutes.**_

She was already at the door, when she remembered to put on some clothes and change her appearance somehow. Sarah knocked the box of wigs off the top shelf of her closet and tossed the longest coat she had around herself. She debated for a moment whether to put anything on under it, and decided better safe than sorry and tugged on a pair of sweats.

* * *

The owner of the convenience store was glaring at Chuck by the time Sarah got there. He didn't recognize her at first, thanks to the brunette wig and the heavy makeup. It was awkward enough before she got there, but now they were standing at the condom section of the store, together, pretending they didn't know each other.

"So what should I do. You told me to play along, but... I'm not going to... you know."

"Shhh. It's alright. We'll just make her think you did. I'm going to slip a packet of pills into your pocket." She said out of the side of her mouth.

"What, memory inducing pills? How is that going to work?" Chuck whispered out the side of his mouth.

"No. They're just roofies."

"Sarah!" Chuck whispered.

"Eyes front," She shot back. "We're not supposed to know each other."

"Why can't I just tell her I'm not interested instead? I think that's the best solution."

"Chuck, I've been 'opening up' to Beckman and Shaw ever since we got the team back together to sell my dissatisfaction with the whole situation. I'm getting a lot of good intel on them from the blowback. And you and Hannah has a lot to do with my 'frailty'. We need to know what's going on with them if this whole thing is going to work."

"What happened to keeping her at arms' length?" Chuck said. "That was like an hour ago!"

"Shhh! Keep your voice down." She hissed. "I know. Okay, but circumstances change. I don't like this any more than you do, but Beckman let something important slip earlier and I need to corroborate it with Shaw. So we need another day before you can dump her. I know this is freaking you out, and I'm sorry. But it is what it is."

"I don't think I can go through with this. Drugging her into thinking we had sex, and _then_ dumping her? The next day?" Chuck said. "She's going to think I'm the world's biggest jerk."

"Yes. Good. That fits with the line I've been feeding Shaw and Beckman about you changing into a cold-blooded spy. Afterwards, see if you can make the breakup as public as possible. They'll probably have someone on surveillance there. I mean, your whole rationale for involving yourself with a civilian has been a little weird."

"She involved herself with me." Chuck complained.

"And you could have uninvolved yourself back on that plane." She shot back. "Instead you gave her a job."

"You _made_ me start 'dating' her in the first place!"

"Don't nitpick with me. This is still your fault for not talking about _me_ enough with her to drive her away." Sarah said, stuffing her hand in her pocket. "Here. I'll talk you through this."

Chuck sighed and put in the earpiece she slipped him. "And what if something goes wrong. Are we going to do this every time Hannah tries to get me into bed?"

"Somebody's pretty confident." Sarah grinned. "Who says she's going to want there to be a next time?"

Chuck grunted. "I've never had any complaints."

"Well sure, not to your face." Sarah said, grin turning wicked. "Do you really not know how that works? Anyway, no more Banter. We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"This is going to be really awkward." The only way it could be worse was if Sarah actually expected him to sleep with Hannah in order to protect his secret relationship with her. He shuddered, imagining Sarah giving him 'mission' advice over the earpiece right in the middle. And then he had a brief daydream about his head exploding like that guy in scanners. Suddenly her actual solution seemed a lot less crazy than it was.

"Yes. Yes it is. Hopefully this will be the most awkward night of our lives."

"Damn right." Chuck said. "I really don't think I could take anything _more _awkward than this."

"Before you say things like that, just wait, in case we have to explain this to Ellie later."

"Oh, _God_." Chuck said, shuddering again. "Why do you always have to make horrifyingly valid points like that?"

"Because I'm the woman." Sarah said, with a knowing grin. "It's my job to think, and your job to look pretty." Chuck pouted briefly and grabbed some stupid condoms he was never going to use. Sarah's eyebrows went up at his choice of brand. "Magnums? No wonder you never get any complaints. Unless you're just posturing."

Chuck just grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. Sarah huffed and snatched another box off the shelf, waggled her eyebrows right back. Chuck whimpered and trudged up to the counter.

* * *

Back at Casa Bartowski/Grimes:

"You're back. Excellent." Hannah said, and held out a glass of wine to him. Judging by the flush on her cheeks, she'd had a couple while he was out. That meant he didn't have to work as hard getting her drunk as he thought. That might have been awkward to explain to Hannah, or Casey for that matter.

"Is this the last of the wine?" Chuck asked. "Let me grab another bottle."

"Good. Yes. Then get back to the couch."

Chuck started riffling through the drawers to find the corkscrew. When he finally did, he fit the contraption to the top of the wine bottle, only to find that it was a twist-off. Morgan and his cheap wines. Chuck rolled his eyes and stuffed the corkscrew back in the drawer, poured two glasses.

He sank onto the couch and eyed Hannah warily, holding out the glass to her. She snatched it and tossed half of her wine back at once, slipped the glass onto the coffee table and looped her arms around his neck. Chuck's eyes widened and he just managed to put his glass down untouched before Hannah's assault made him spill wine everywhere.

She shoved him onto his back and Hannah was kissing him again, and she kept trying to pull his hands away from her back and put them on her breasts. Chuck pushed her away with a gasp, sat up hastily.

"I'll be right back. I promise. Just gotta see a man about a horse." Chuck said, extricating himself to go to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned back with a sigh. "This is super creepy." Chuck said into the mirror and wiped lipstick off his face.

"Yes. It is." Sarah's voice said over his earpiece. "I gave you a pass on Jill because we were on a break under the cover-relationship. But remember I'm watching the surveillance feeds, so don't even think it, buster." Chuck put his finger to his ear.

"Seriously?" Chuck said. "You think _that_'s what I'm thinking? I'm just wondering if she's drunk enough yet to think she just blacked out. _God_, do I need to figure out a way to get you laid. Sorry."

Sarah was silent for a moment. "You're doing a good job acting for the cameras. Its a little more convincing than I was prepared for, that's all. And she should be drunk enough by the looks of things. Careful you don't telegraph putting the pills in her glass, Casey might be watching too. That's one complication we do _not_ need. Remember how I showed you."

"Hey there." Hannah slurred as soon as he flushed the empty toilet and came back into the living room. Both wine glasses were conspicuously empty. Chuck briefly wondered if he was that repulsive that Hannah needed to drink so heavily before wanting to have sex with him. But he shrugged the thought away and filed it in the 'what is wrong with you, you have a smoking hot CIA superspy girlfriend' file in his brain. Thankfully it only had the one entry so far, and he wanted to keep it that way. "Why don't you get back over here and... hic... we can get to work."

"Just a sec," Chuck said, moving into the kitchen and poured out another couple glasses of wine. Sarah's coaching on how to slip something into a drink was invaluable, but god was this creepy, useful spy-skill or no. He was careful to keep Hannah's glass in his right hand. If he somehow accidentally roofied _himself_ and ended up letting the tiny brunette have her way with him while blacked out, Sarah would go ballistic.

He handed Hannah her glass and sat down again. She took a quick slug and her eyes rolled up. Hannah sighed and started to slump.

"So, what do you say we take this into the bedr— Aaand she's asleep." Chuck said, shaking his head in mock disappointment for Casey's benefit. He took the glass back out of her hand. Thank god. The girl was really handsy when she was drunk. It was a struggle not to sigh in relief.

"Okay, now." Sarah said in his ear. "Carry her into your bedroom and then go use the bathroom again so we can talk."

Chuck took both glasses back into the kitchen and poured the leftover wine down the drain, rinsed both glasses out just to be safe. He sighed and scooped Hanna up and carried her into his bedroom. God this was so so creepy. He got out of there as fast as possible and made his way to the bathroom. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Chuck leaned against the wall, and sighed. "So, how am I supposed to make her think we had sex?"

"I've figured out how to loop the exterior cameras without leaving any traces. The internals and the audio are on a different server though. Just keep the lights turned off in your room, and I'll slip in the Morgan door."

"Oh great. More awkward."

* * *

In the darkness of his room, Chuck strained his eyes, trying to pick up Sarah's entrance. He was still surprised when a hand covered his mouth from behind. "Mff!" He shouted into her hand despite himself.

"Shh." Sarah said from behind him, and then goggles were coming over his eyes, and the world turned green. Nightvision.

Sarah's hand came up, holding a three by five inch notecard with her handwriting on it.

_**I'm putting a tactical radio set on you.**_

_**256k encryption burst transmitter.**_

_**It's got a subvocal microphone.**_

_**To talk, you just whisper without **_

_**opening your mouth.**_

_**Won't get picked up on bugs.**_

Her hands worked deftly. Chuck felt her hands around his throat for a moment, situating something right next to his Adam's apple. And then he felt her pulling his earpiece and putting something else in his ear.

"There. Can you hear me?" Her words sounded a little odd, but he nodded. "Good. Try saying something."

"Like what?"

"I can barely understand you. Hang on, let me calibrate." Her hands flipped a toggle switch near his neck. "Try again."

"I love you."

"Nothing." Her hands found his in the darkness, placed them carefully at her throat. "Feel that when I talk? You need to articulate carefully."

"I love you." Chuck tried again.

"Hearing you five by five now." He felt her lips on his cheek and grinned, in spite of the weirdness of their current off the books mission. "Alright." Sarah said. "Goggles off. I'm going to undress her."

"This is super awkward." Chuck said, getting the hang of the subvocal microphone.

"Goggles off, Bartowski!"

A few minutes of strange silky wisping noises passed in the darkness before Sarah's voice came over his tactical earpiece again. "Okay. Goggles on. She's in bed and covered up." Sarah said. "You should have eight hours before Hannah wakes up. I'll radio you in the morning through the tactical earpiece, just leave it on until you go in the bathroom to shower. That should give you a buffer time frame to be awake before her. Go buy donuts or something, and don't forget to leave a note, in the bed or on the nightstand telling her where you went. It's creepy otherwise."

"Its plenty creepy anyway." He could see her grin underneath the nightvision goggles, the infrared lamp on his goggles causing a flare on her teeth. "God this is crazy."

"One of the sacrifices you make for dating a spy." Sarah said through the subvocal microphone on her encrypted tactical radio. In her damn boyfriend's bedroom. She sighed. That cut both ways. Sarah flipped her NVGs out of the way and peered out the blinds. "Okay, it looks like Casey's calling it a night. Which means I should go. What are you doing?"

"Getting out a sleeping bag." He said. "Why, is that a surprise?"

"Of course not." Yes, but not for the reason he thought. "Thanks, I appreciate the thought. But you have to sleep in the bed with her so that when the cameras have enough light to record in the morning you don't tip off Casey by sleeping on the floor." She said, and kissed him, "Also, you need to put a used condom in the trash. I doubt even Casey would test it, but Hannah might look for one, so. Here. Ziploc bag so you can carry it from the bathroom in your pocket."

"Oh my god!" Chuck gasped. "Seriously? This is too creepy."

"We can't afford loose ends, Sweetie." Sarah said, and tugged the nightvision goggles off his head. "Use one of the condoms you bought tonight. Now, get to work." She gave him a quick peck on the lips, made awkward by the bulky goggles, but she was nothing if not determined. Sarah still needed to return the NVGs to Castle before the morning briefing and then get home.

Chuck growled something, but growling didn't translate well on the subvocal microphones. Sarah grinned in the dark and pinched his butt. He jumped about a foot. "Sarah." He protested.

"You want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Chuck groaned audibly. "What are you doing?"

"Just making sure you're properly motivated in there." Sarah replied, squeezing his rear again, this time letting her fingers linger for a couple seconds before jumping back out of his reach. She saw his arms come up and close on empty air, and she smirked.

"You're evil." Chuck said, and turned for the door. Sarah darted over to hide in the closet from the light spilling in from the hallway.

"You love it." She didn't wait for him to come back. Before she left though, she planted a small night vision camera in the corner of the room by the Morgan Door, so that it had a good view of the bed. She trusted Chuck, really, just... dammit. She was half way out to the fountain before her conscience got the better of her and she slipped back in and removed the camera. If Sarah trusted him--and she did--she had to _trust_ him trust him.

* * *

Chuck slept between the top sheet and his comforter, so that he could minimize the chances of potential touching Hannah's skin, but he barely got any sleep because of the nerves. In the morning, Sarah's computer amplified but still recognizable voice in his ear woke him from a dream _about_ Sarah, which he could really get used to. "Wakey wakey." She said.

"Hey." Chuck replied, on the subvocal microphone, slipping out of bed. "You think we can hang on to these radio sets? It's good to hear your voice in the mornings."

"Sorry. We need to get them back to Castle before they're missed. I'll meet you at the Dunkin Donuts on Fremont." Chuck trudged into the bathroom, removed the tactical radio, showered shaved, and got the hell out of the house. It was going to be awkward enough if he didn't run into Morgan this morning.

* * *

Sarah was waiting for him, a dozen donuts in a box on the table in front of her. "Hey." She said and Chuck sat down, slipped the tactical radio under the table to her.

"We have time for breakfast?" Chuck said with a smile. "Can we just sit for a while? Pretend we're a regular couple?" Her face fell, and Chuck winced. "Sorry."

Sarah shrugged. "It is what it is, sweetie. Don't be sorry. Let's just get through today, and then we'll worry about everything else."

"I love you." Chuck said. Sarah's eyes darted around the Dunkin' Donuts. No one was close enough to have heard, but she still tensed. He lowered his voice to quell the mini-freakout. "Just so you know, still and always. I love you."

"Thanks. I needed to hear it."

"I know. But look on the bright side, by tonight I'll be single again, and you can make your move." Chuck reached across the table and threaded his fingers through hers.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but didn't let go. "That's not the plan."

"I ever tell you how much I don't like these plans of yours?"

She laughed bitterly. "You and me both, goober. Now you'd better get back. Text me if something comes up."

"Kiss?"

Her eyes made a quick scan of the donut place and she leaned in. "Probably a bad idea, public place and all."

"You're probably right." Chuck said, lips closing in. "You usually are." But there was no one around to interrupt them, no mission briefing scheduled for this morning that he was aware of, just Sarah and Chuck and donuts. And lips. Sarah made sure they kept it brief, as disciplined as ever.

* * *

When he got back with the donuts Sarah had bought, Ellie had already let herself in. And met Hannah coming out of the shower. And the awkward just didn't stop. Somehow he found himself having family dinner with Hannah instead of breaking up with her. Sarah was going to kill him. How the hell was he going to get out of this 'relationship?' It was like the universe was conspiring against him and Sarah. Next Hannah would want him to meet her parents. Damn it. The only thing that let him keep up the happy facade, pretend to be enjoying himself with Morgan and Ellie and Devon at dinner was to remember that Sarah was watching the surveillance feeds. At least in that, he could make himself feel some unity with her. He felt like he was watching his life trickle by, pretending not to be with the woman he loved. Pretending, always pretending.

Hannah was lingering and Ellie and Awesome had already left. Morgan was starting to droop. If Chuck didn't do something fast, she was going to want to spend the night again.

"Hey. This was a lot of fun." He managed to say with a straight face somehow. "But, I've got a super-early Nerd Herd call, and then I have to open the store, so..." He didn't care how awkward it was, if she didn't take the hint he'd break up with her in front of Morgan and to hell with the consequences.

"Oh, sorry." She said, and Chuck barely managed to hold in the relieved sigh. "Right. I knew that. Last night was great, what I remember of it. Little too much wine for me. But, yeah. I should go." Hannah went up on tiptoe, fishing for a kiss, and Chuck cursed inwardly, and darted his eyes to the camera. He shrugged minutely, and Casey would probably figure it was aimed at him.

Once Hannah was gone he went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Twice, just to be safe. Sarah's comment from the other day about tasting like brunettes was still fresh in his mind. The only bright side he could see was the text message he received on the burner just before he got into bed. He breathed a sigh of relief and slept soundly for the first time in what seemed like forever.

**Got what I needed. Dump away! :-)**

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: So, everything after this is all jumbled up and incomplete. Next update will be awhile.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So judging from the lack of reviews the last chapter wasn't too popular. Well it was supposed to be a little over the top, but its over now.

Chuck and Sarah finally get some alone time this chapter, but come to a decision that neither is really too thrilled about in order to protect their various covers.

Chapter 5:

Chuck woke up with a smile on his face, stretched and slipped out of bed. He wiped the smile off his face hurriedly in case The Colonel was watching the cameras over his cereal like he sometimes did. He'd finally broken up with Hannah. It was just one less thing for him to worry about, in a vast array of things he still had to worry about, but it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He just had to pretend like he wasn't happy about it. Chuck just didn't feel particularly like seeing Hannah at work today, but he had to go. Maybe he would catch of glimpse of Sarah. Maybe there would be a mission and they'd get some alone time in the van.

Oh the joys of being a spy in a secret relationship. Ten minutes alone time in the van. Chuck sighed and went out into the kitchen to get some breakfast. Morgan was waiting for him.

"Hey, Chuck. I didn't hear you come home last night, things went good with Hannah I take it?" Chuck winced.

"About that, buddy." He said, opening the cupboard and pulling out a box of cereal. "We broke up. Hannah was a mistake. I never should have started something with her."

"Really." Morgan said, and crossed his arms. "You couldn't have figured that out _before _you ruined my chances with her?"

"I'm— what?" Chuck said. "I didn't..." He sighed. "Sorry, Morgan. I really wasn't thinking clearly. Sarah—" He cut himself off abruptly. Telling Morgan that Sarah had _made _him date Hannah would hardly be conducive to continued domestic tranquility with his best friend.

"I get it." Morgan said. He hopped up on the counter, pulled out a handful of cereal and stuffed his face. "You were trying to make Sarah jealous. I get it, dude. I get it. But still Hannah's such a sweet girl, that's totally not cool dude. You're my best friend and so I'll back your play on about anything. But so not cool."

"I know. Morgan you're right. Look, that's why I broke up with her. It just wasn't fair to be involved with her under the circumstances. Not to mention, she wanted me to meet her parents." Chuck put his head in his hands. "Work is going to be awkward today."

"You ain't kiddin' brother." Morgan said and clapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe you should take the day off? I'll vouch for you. What do you want, puking? Or possibly some stomach cramps? Pink eye maybe? No, I know! " Morgan snapped his fingers. "I'll get you like a week off. The piece de resistance of faking sick. Syphilis!" Morgan made the pronouncement complete with spirit fingers.

Chuck winced. "What!"

"Well, I mean. That way Hannah won't be all pissed at you for dumping her?"

"I kind of like her pissed at me." Chuck said. "That way we don't have to talk."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense." Morgan mused, rubbing his bearded chin in thought.

"Also, I don't think Sarah would appreciate me not telling her about the 'syphilis.'" Chuck shuddered theatrically and poured a glass of orange juice.

Morgan scoffed. "Who do you think gave it to you in the first place?"

Chuck sprayed orange juice all over the table. "What! Oh this plan is just getting worse and worse. I'll just stick with the basics. Puking. No STDs please." And Sarah would probably hear about this from Casey at some point, if she wasn't watching it live. "No, no, on second thought. I'm going to work. I need to face up to this."

"You're sure?" Morgan said. "Cause, come on: Totally Assistant Manager here. This is one of the few things I actually have the authority for. Please. Let me abuse my authority for you."

"No thanks Morgan, and I'm driving."

"Come on." Morgan said, pointing at himself with both thumbs. "Assistant Manager. I'm responsible. I have a driver's license and everything!"

"We'll see what Casey has to say." Chuck said. Morgan slumped, defeated.

* * *

"Bartowski!" Big Mike growled as soon as they were through the doors. "What the hell did you do?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, Big Mike, you'll have to be more specific." Chuck said. Morgan shrugged and inched away to hide from work all day. Casey grinned, and disappeared into the break room. "Do you mean today, or over the last week or so? I'm just kind of drawing a blank here."

"New girl up and quit this mornin'..." Big Mike crossed his arms over his chest. "What did you do?"

"Hah." Chuck said, and tugged at the collar of his Nerd Herd button down. "Uh. What makes you think I did anything?" Big Mike just looked at him, expression saying more than words ever could. "Uh, should I just... I'm just gonna go get to work on those invoices."

"Bartowski!" Big Mike demanded.

"Yeah?"

"The Buymore is not your own personal hoochie bank. No more dating in the workplace." He said. "Get me?"

"Absolutely." Chuck said, and went over to sit down at the Nerd Herd counter. He put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Well, well well well well." A voice said. "How the mighty have fallen. Couldn't hold onto new girl or blondie." Chuck shuddered.

"What is it Lester?" Chuck asked. "What do you want?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what, drive away girls with impunity?" Chuck said, raggedly.

"No, get them to sleep with you first!" Jeff said, hollowing out earwax so he could hear better. "We've got the driving away part down. We just need your help with the timing."

Lester smacked Jeff in the chest. "Ulp. Speaking of timing. Fro Yo Ho incoming."

"Hurry up, Chuck. Just give us a quick tip." Jeff pleaded.

"Okay. Don't be creepy."

Jeff's face fell and he let Lester drag him off looking like a sad kicked puppy. A sad kicked impossibly creepy puppy, but still. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and watched Sarah approach. His whole world contracted down to the way she walked. She was wearing just the tiniest hint of a smirk. He couldn't have torn his eyes off her if his life depended on it.

She leaned against the counter, drumming her fingers on the counter and pulling him out of Happy Sarah Walking Toward Him With Imaginary Wind Blowing Her Hair Everywhere Land. "Wipe off the grin. Beckman wants to talk to us in Castle." Chuck glanced around, but Sarah had been her usual careful self in that respect. No one was close enough to hear.

"Are we good as far as..." He flicked his eyes up and around, taking in the whole Buymore. Sarah shook her head, just a touch, barely noticeable except that he was looking for it. Audio bugs still functional at the Buymore. "Alright then, my break's in half an hour."

"Beckman said now."

"It's going to look like we're getting back together if I leave with you."

"I can always slap you again for Jeff and Lester when we come back?" Sarah said.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think, all things considered, I'll pass." Chuck grinned. "My head's still ringing from that last one.

"Come on." Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

* * *

Chuck and Sarah came down the stairs into Castle only to find Casey already halfway through boxing up his M134 mini-gun. Judging by the other gun-cases lined up on the main conference table, there was a war that needed fighting somewhere and John Casey was the Action-hero on-call.

"Hey, Casey." Chuck said brightly. "Why are you packing up all your guns? We have a mission?"

"I do. You don't. I'm heading to Fort Bragg this weekend for a training refresher with some old Delta Force buddies. Lousy bean pushers at Ft. Meade say I have to officially re-certify every five years. I'll be gone for three days. So—well, I'll let the General explain. See you Monday Bartowski."

"Do you need a hand getting everything out to the Crown Vic?" Sarah asked.

"Nah, Walker, I got it." Casey said and hit the remote to initiate the call to the general. "Enjoy."

After the usual telltale beeps, Beckman's face bloomed on the plasma display. "Ah, good. Everyone's here. Have fun at Fort Bragg, Colonel." Casey saluted and started up the stairs. Once Casey had lugged the first armload of cased weaponry out, the general turned her attention to Chuck and Sarah.

Beckman's face on the screen seemed all too glad that Chuck and Sarah were seemingly on the outs. There was just a touch of smug self satisfaction there behind the usual stern expression if you knew where to look. "Colonel Casey's trip leaves us with a gap in your protection, Agent Bartowski. Also, given your status as an agent in training, not to mention the Intersect data you have in your head, we can't risk having you exposed like this. In order to keep you safe for the duration, Agent Bartowski, you and Agent Walker will be entering twenty four hour protection. We can't risk bringing any other agents into the Intersect project to fill out the detail temporarily, and the odds of the Asset's sister or roommate spotting Agent Walker coming or going from Colonel Casey's apartment is too great."

"So, your place or mine?" Chuck sighed dejectedly.

Beckman cleared her throat. "You will be staying at Agent Walker's, unless she wishes to resume her original cover as your girlfriend?"

Sarah glared daggers at the General, then turned it on Chuck, just for show. At least he hoped so. "I'll take that as a no," Beckman went on, oblivious. "In that case, Chuck will be 'attending a Nerd Herd training symposium' and Agent Walker will 'develop a stomach ailment' for the duration of Colonel Casey's absence. Hopefully by the end of these few days the pair of you will be able to conduct yourselves professionally again. That is all." Beckman disconnected without another word.

Chuck and Sarah sat in stunned disbelief for about a minute before Casey came back in. "So. If you're going to kill him, Walker, you should probably wait until Saturday. Give you a better chance of getting off the grid before I'm due back." Chuck frowned and glared at Casey.

"Don't even joke about something like that, John." Sarah said. "Come on, let's get you loaded up." Chuck grinned behind Casey's back, and watched Sarah walk away. It was just as riveting as watching her arrival.

* * *

Sarah's Hotel Room:

"Does it strike you as hilarious that Beckman is trying to _fix _our relationship for once?" Chuck said with a brief good natured laugh. Sarah smiled, leaning her chin on her knee in her chair at the table.

"Maybe a little." She said. "Mostly it just tells me we've been maybe doing too good of a job pretending to be at each others' throats. We said friends, and we haven't been following through on it very well."

"So," Chuck said, sitting across from her. He leaned his elbow on the table. "How should we go about appearing closer?" They both looked briefly toward Sarah's bed, and then their eyes met again. Sarah bit her lower lip.

"Race you?" Sarah grinned. Chuck shook his head slowly, and jumped to his feet. He grabbed Sarah's wrist and hauled her out of her seat and up into a fireman's carry. "Chuck!" She laughed and hit him in the back. "Put me down! Chuck!" He winced and dropped her like he'd been burned. She bounced on the bed and then Chuck lost his balance and pitched over on top of her. Sarah laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck to stop him rolling off. "Mmm. C'mere you." She said, and tugged his lips down to hers.

"Sarah." Chuck said, pulling away briefly. "I'm sorry I thought it would be funny I—" Her blue eyes took on a dangerous glint for a moment. Chuck gulped.

"Shut up and kiss me."

A slow grin spread across his face. "I can do that." Chuck said, and suited his words. He kissed her and Sarah licked his lips. The kiss deepened and Sarah shifted under him, legs splaying around so that she could wrap her thighs around his hips, locked her ankles in the small of his back. "Oh god." Chuck breathed, and trailed his lips down her jawline. He trailed his hands down her sides, started to slip his hands under her t-shirt.

Her hands gripped his wrists firmly, stopping him from pulling her shirt up any further. She moaned, a feeble groan. "Wait. Wait." Sarah said louder, letting go of him with her legs and shimmying up the bed, pulling away with supreme reluctance. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Chuck frowned. "You don't want to—"

"I didn't say that!" Sarah cut him off harshly, puffed her bangs out of her face in frustration. "I want to. G_od_, do I want to... it's been _years_, Chuck. I just... I don't think I can do this and still pretend to be barely on the way to being just friends with you, not all the time. Can you honestly say you could do that?" Sarah said with a roll of her shoulder. "I know I'm a good actress, just not that good."

"I can't believe this." Chuck said, trying not to whine. "The NSA and the CIA just got together and Cock-blocked me."

Sarah grinned. "Us. The NSA and the CIA just got together and Cock-blocked _us._ But, if you need to go, 'take care' of anything?"

"What are you..."

"Just make sure to clean up after yourself in the bathroom. I don't want to get pregnant off a toilet seat."

"Not awesome, and that's an urban legend." Chuck kissed her briefly, and managed to slip one hand into her hair. The other went around her waist and pulled her closer. Sarah moaned and pressed herself up against him for a moment before pulling away.

"Go, before _I_ need to take care of something _my_self." He gave her a quick dose of the Bartowski eyebrow dance. She shoved him away, whimpered and stuffed her head under her pillow."Go!" She growled and pointed. Chuck reluctantly padded away. As the door closed behind him, she shouted. "And you'd better be thinking of me in there!"

Sarah bit her lip for a moment, then vaulted to her feet and slipped silently across her room to listen at the door. She frowned in disappointment. She couldn't hear anything, and it took longer than she expected before she heard the flush of the toilet. She had time to slip a sympathetic hand into her own pants.

Chuck should have been ready to explode with need, not... She checked her watch. Not four minutes alone in the bathroom with need. She must have been out of practice, letting her seduction skills get rusty. Not that she could complain about _not _having to seduce men she would rather have killed. Sarah grinned. Even with their decision to not have sex, she could still practice on her Chuck. Keep him on his toes and in cold showers. The idea had a certain appeal. The door snapped open and Sarah jumped back, startled, and whipped her hand back out of her pj pants. With her ear to the door, Sarah knew the answer to her question before she asked it. "Did you wash your hands?" She said, with a smirk.

"I did not! Oowah!" Chuck said, grabbing her around the waist.

"Ew, gross, Chuck." Sarah said, and squirmed away a little, but she didn't stop him from pulling her into a kiss.

"Really? Did you wash _your_ hands?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sarah said seriously. Chuck grabbed her hand and lifted it up to his face to kiss her knuckles.

"So why are your fingers all... moist..."

Sarah blushed and ducked her head, tugged her hand out of Chuck's grasp and stuck it behind her back. "You fight dirty."

"Well, I'm highly motivated." Chuck said. "You see, my girlfriend won't put out, and it's getting very, very... hard... not to just throw her on the bed and have my way with her."

Sarah sighed and pressed herself up against him in spite of herself. "Chuck, you said you understood." She lost control halfway through, moaning the last word in a singsong, just the idea of Chuck throwing her on the bed setting off alarm bells and amazing mental pictures that she was having trouble shaking off. Sarah wasn't really paying attention to what Chuck was saying anymore, because his hands were doing something really awesome at the moment and NO!

"No!" She said, smacking him in the chest. "Bad touching!" Nice bad touching, god really nice bad touching but still. "Chuck please. We can't have sex."

"Okay."

"Okay? Then why are you still rubbing my butt like that?"

"Hmm? Do what? I'm not doing anything."

"Chuck..." Sarah complained. "Please..."

"No, you're right. We can't have sex. You'll notice that my pants are firmly zipped and buttoned and will remain that way. Your pants on the other hand..."

"Chuck!"

"Okay, okay. I'm just... you say no sex. Where's the line... Kissing, we have to do sometimes for cover when we're on missions, so obviously fair game." Chuck took the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on the side of her neck. Sarah fisted both hands in his shirt and whimpered as he continued. "Second base? Not in public obviously, but..." He slipped a hand up under Sarah's shirt slowly, and arched an eyebrow, giving her ample time to slap his hand away as he crawled it up until it was just below her bra. He kissed the same spot as before, letting his lips linger, causing her to tremble slightly and bite off a low moan. "I'd like to know if I'm about to get slapped again."

Gasping for breath, Sarah quirked a grin. "How about I just surprise you." She reconsidered. "Or, here's a ground rule for you. No stealing_ third_, unless you want to get slapped. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough." He laughed. "On the other hand, its totally worth it the way you say my name."

Sarah tensed, waiting for it, then pouted for a moment. "Totally worth it, huh, what's the hold up?"

"Well, not now... You're expecting it." Chuck said, creeping his finger under the strap of her bra."

"Chuck." Sarah said warningly.

"Oh, did I not get a ruling on second base? Sorry about that, Sweetness." Chuck whispered into her ear as he toyed with the elastic, slipping his finger under and then pulling back. "So." He kissed the place behind her ear. "Yay or nay, Ms. Walker?"

"You are _evil_."

"Maybe just a smidge." Chuck said, holding up the thumb and forefinger of his free hand half an inch apart. "Your fault though."

Sarah let out a shuddering gasp as Chuck thrust his hand up under her bra to cup her left breast. His thumb and forefinger found her nipple and she shivered uncontrollably. She licked her teeth and managed to get out a muffled, "Yay."

They kissed, and Chuck slipped the other hand up to join its mischievous partner. Sarah moaned into him, practically melting into his touch. They pulled apart to catch their breath eventually, and Chuck used the opportunity to pose another question about ground rules.

"We have a consensus on losing the shirt?" Chuck whispered. Sarah groaned and grabbed his wrists through her shirt.

"God that's such a bad idea. I just..." _God that's such a great idea._ Sarah shook herself. "No. Shirt has to stay on. Pants _must_ stay on."

"Those two things do not have a direct correlation." Chuck said, and squeezed.

Sarah moaned and kissed him once more before forcing his probing hands down. She swallowed hugely before she could go on. "Yes, they _absolutely_ do." Once she had him safely back out at arms' length and his hands gripped securely in hers, Sarah tried to regain her composure. It wasn't easy, and she was almost at the point of no return. "Chuck... okay. We can do... things... we just can't have sex. There _will_ be naughty touching... but I've been... going without for so long that we either need to take it really slow, with ground rules, or we need a better system."

"A system." Chuck said flatly. "That's sexy."

"We _can't_ have sex, or I'm going to get all giggly in Castle and ruin everything and god I'm about three more seconds of naughty touching from mounting you right here on the floor."

"Sarah, the bed's like ten feet away."

She squeezed his hands tight. "Too _far_." She growled throatily. "Sweetie, this is important. If Casey figures this... us, out, he's going straight to Beckman."

"Maybe, I mean he seemed pretty cool with it before Prague. I mean, for Casey." Chuck said, "And I'm going to be an agent, so..."

"We talked about this."

"What really?" He frowned. "I don't remember that."

"Well not this specifically." Sarah shrugged. "And you were probably distracted by me lying on your chest at the time. Relationships between agents are still frowned upon, especially when one of them is the intersect. Beckman would insist on moving me, and the closest place for a field officer is the US Embassy in Mexico City, and that's diplomatic cover. We're black ops, the change would be flagged in my file and it might draw attention to you."

"Is that where you'd go if you got reassigned? I mean, if we didn't already have a contingency plan. It's only a couple hours by plane."

"Long distance relationships never work, Chuck."

"I remember this talk now." Chuck said, pouting. "But we should at least have a plan B, in case I'm with Casey in Castle or something and can't escape when we're supposed to run, right?"

"Yes, but I already have a plan B. We can call that plan..." Sarah thought for a moment. "J? Yeah, I think that could be a decent Plan J, but it still needs some fine-tuning."

Chuck counted on his fingers. "Wait, you already have ten different plans?"

Sarah grinned. "Well what the hell else was I supposed to do on those long cold nights alone in my big empty bed over there, pining for you while you were off failing spy school?"

"Pining?" Chuck said, a massive grin growing on his face. "Is that a euphemism?" Sarah smacked him playfully.

"You forget, Mr. Bartowski, I have access to your surveillance feeds. At least I'm in good company on the pining front, euphemism or no." Realization hit. "You need to stop distracting me. Yes, we need a system. Or at least a safe word."

"Kinky."

Sarah glared at him fondly, for a moment before she broke out in giggles. "Not like that. Sort of a, stop-immediately-or-I'm-going-to-ravish-you word, but that seemed a little lengthy."

"No, you're right, Safe word just seems like a much more efficient way to phrase the concept, naughty connotations aside. Have any ideas?"

"Pineapple. Just like at the Buy More."

"That's a panic button, not a safe word."

"Pretty much the same thing, from where I'm standing, Chuck. Anyway, that can be our code word for you to run too. If you ever get a text from John Casey's personal cell that says pineapple, you run." She dug a key from her pocket. "Hide this somewhere when we're on missions. When we're not, it needs to be on your person at all times. Locker 313 at the bus terminal. It's got the first leg of your current escape plan. If we can keep this charade up longer than I think, I might have to get you a replacement."

"Casey's in on it?"

"Of course not, that's just to throw off suspicion." Sarah said. "I cloned his phone before he went out of town."

"You're very sneaky." Chuck said. "Should I be worried about this duplicitous tendency of yours?"

"Please, you love it."

"I do in fact." Chuck said and flopped back onto Sarah's bed. "Why don't you come back to bed."

"That is just the latest in a series of bad ideas on your part." Sarah said with a grin. _Great ideas_, her subconscious corrected and she clambered in after him, snuggled up onto his chest. Sarah breathed in his scent, and heard Chuck doing the same. She pulled away, eyes soft. "So. How does this work?"

"You're asking me?"

Sarah bit off a laugh. "No, I mean. With Casey gone and Beckman making us shack up to 'get our spy team groove back.' This is... you know. It's like we're actually a real couple for the next two days. No missions, because the team is down a man. Its..." She kissed him softly, just a peck really. "What do we do with ourselves?" She kissed him again, just as brief.

Chuck shrugged and rubbed a brief circle in the small of her back. "Dunno. Same stuff we used to do when we were cover-dating?"

Sarah pouted. "Can't. Might run into Morgan or Jeff and Lester, or Ellie and Awesome, and you're supposed to be out of town."

"Ellie and Awesome barely ever get out of the apartment they're so exhausted from the hospital." Chuck said, "And as long as we avoid Bennigan's we should also avoid Jeff and Lester. And I know Morgan's work schedule."

"I know." Sarah said, and put her head back down on Chuck's chest. "I was just looking for an excuse to get out of town with you."

"Hmm." Chuck said. "Beckman might try to call and check up on us. Or just watch my GPS in realtime. You never know with that lady."

"Well, I figured something out with the GPS watches." Sarah said. She stood up on her knees and flopped over him, started rooting around in her nightstand. An identical watch to the one Chuck was currently wearing came out in her hand.

"Where'd you get that?"

"It fell off a truck?" Sarah tried. Chuck narrowed his eyes and she sighed. "I stole it. Okay?"

"Sarah!"

She glowered at him. "Come on, we're planning to run away from the CIA and the NSA together, you thought I could do that without breaking at least a couple laws?"She shrugged. "And besides, I covered my tracks. I don't bore you with the details of everything I'm doing to get us off the grid."

"Maybe you should."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Dammit. Yes. Of course I do. Stop throwing that in my face." Chuck sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad. I promise. It's... Do you not trust _me_? Why don't you want to tell me specifics?"

Sarah frowned. "It's not that I don't want to tell you." She paused. "Okay, I guess it is. I'm no good at this part. Let me think how to say this and we'll talk later?"

Chuck frowned. "I don't..." He took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. "Alright. But I don't like it, Sarah. I really don't. It feels like you're not in this the same as I am. That you somehow don't trust me after all we've been through."

"Chuck don't—" Sarah said, eyes wet and face scrunched up. "I do trust you. I swear. I l— I llo—" Chuck grinned in spite of himself, in spite of how genuinely angry he was.

"Shh. You say it when you're ready." Chuck said. "I'm not trying to pressure you I just..."

"I know. And in other circumstances," Sarah murmured. "I would just sex you up to win the argument, but--"

"Pineapple!" Chuck blurted and scooted away from her hastily. Sarah arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

"What really?" She said. "All I did was _mention_..." She cut off, Chuck was nodding furiously, and Sarah blushed and grinned, all teeth and blue eyes.

"Gah! Pineapple! Stop being so damn cute!"

Sarah sat up and put on a playfully stern expression and planted her fists on her hips. Chuck groaned and rolled onto his stomach so he couldn't see her. She let a slow pouty grin melt through the fake sternness and knee walked across the bed and tackled him.

"Hey." Chuck said. "I thought I said Pineapple."

"Shh. I'll be the big spoon. Less chance of... accidents that way." Sarah whispered into his ear, linking her hands together around his chest. "In the morning, where do you want to go?"

"Paris?"

Sarah laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

"I'm serious."

"Okay. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually. I promise we'll get there."

"How about Barstow instead?" Chuck said, turned in her arms and waggled his eyebrows.

Sarah laughed. "Enough. Pineapple, baby."

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: Last couple weeks of class are the worst, and I'll be grading papers again until I go crazy. Next couple chapters will get written when they get written. A brief teaser for next chapter: Chuck and Sarah's plan to get out of town goes a little awry and they end up much further out of town than they intended. Like Afghanistan further.

So, in the meantime, I love getting feedback, positive or negative. Feedback is feedback. Reviews are always appreciated. Isn't that little button down there tempting? Can't you hear it whispering to you, saying: Click me... Click me...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So does anybody know what's up with the formatting lately? My scene breaks keep disappearing. Okay, I think I figured it out. Never mind.

Disclaimer: I don't own chuck or any of the related characters or situations.

Chapter 6:

Chuck woke up for only the second time in his life with his arms around the perfect woman. His eyes opened slowly and sunlight slanting through the windows etched everything in a golden nimbus. Her hair on the pillow next to his head blazed yellow and he realized he was almost painfully aroused. He inched his pelvis away gradually, hoping she wasn't awake to feel him poking her in the back. Chuck carefully rolled onto his back, then slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom and a cold shower.

Sarah woke up a little before he did and stayed perfectly still, just soaking up the feel of him pressed to her back, and was that? She grinned. Of course it was. When she felt him stirring behind her, Sarah squeezed her eyes closed and breathed deep, mimicking sleep. She probably shouldn't call attention to what he was pressing into her back, now that they had decided she couldn't do anything about it for him.

Then he was slipping out of bed and Sarah sighed audibly in disappointment. She could have done with a few more minutes of him poking her in the back with his morning wood. Chuck turned and quirked an eyebrow. "How long have you been awake?" He said.

Sarah shrugged one shoulder and stretched slowly, languorously, grinning ear to ear, mischief in her eyes. "Long enough to know you won't be using any hot water in your shower." He blushed adorably, which just made Sarah's grin turn smug. Her eyes darted down and she licked her lips. Chuck blushed even worse and darted through the door into the bathroom.

"Pineapple!" He called, poking his head out around the doorjamb. Sarah laughed, rich and heartfelt.

"Hurry up in there. I need to get through the shower too." She said. "We've got to get on the road early." The sound of water in the shower came through the wall and Sarah lay in bed, imagining Chuck covered in lather. She swallowed and laced her fingers together on her stomach to stop her hands from wandering. It looked like neither of them was going to be using any hot water this morning. They cycled through the shower with only mild awkwardness when Chuck came out of the bathroom in just a towel. Sarah grinned and bit her lip, struggling not to snatch that damn towel away and just maul him. Chuck blushed and hiked the towel up a touch more securely.

"Um. My clothes are..." He pointed and Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

"Right, and I should..." But they stood in the doorway to the bathroom for a long drawn out moment, until Sarah leaned in and brushed her lips across his cheek. "Go get dressed, unless... Beckman did say not to let you out of my sight." Sarah arched an eyebrow and bobbed her head toward the bathroom.

Chuck whimpered and grabbed his towel tighter around himself, ran for his overnight bag. "Evil woman!" Sarah smiled and slipped into the bathroom.

She poked her head back out, pouting. "I was serious by the way..." Chuck threw his towel at her. Sarah batted it aside easily, and her eyes widened. "Oh my _god_! Pineapple!" She said, blushed crimson and slammed the door shut.

* * *

Once they were both safely clothed again, they sat down at the table. "Okay, we're ridiculous. We can't just use the Pineapple safe-word all the time. It'll lose all meaning." Chuck said.

"Fair enough." Sarah said. "But then we're back to ground rules, and I really didn't like the way that discussion was heading."

"I guess we'll just have to... you know. Be adults and stop acting like horny teenagers."

Sarah grinned. "I'm twenty eight. But point taken. If that's going to work, you need to stop being so adorable."

"Me!"

She nodded earnestly, and Chuck grinned. "Okay. That right there. Adorable. You need to stop that." Chuck leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers. "This is going to be really hard." Sarah whispered.

"That's what she said." Chuck said, ruining the moment.

Sarah pouted. "Alright. Take off your watch. In case Beckman checks on us, it needs to look like you haven't left the hotel." She ducked over to the nightstand and tossed him the duplicate watch.

"So, how does the whole two watches thing work?"

Sarah paused in fitting the new watch to his wrist. "The first watch just sends its normal signal all the time. The second watch, when we activate it, like so." She pushed the face of the watch down and twisted. "It sends out whatever coordinates we put into this thing right here." Sarah fished out her iPhone and loaded a newly installed app. "Then, when you disable it, it sends back a stream of false coordinates leading back to the first watch at a normal driving pace, using Google maps. Or we can run it in the opposite direction, so that we eventually give them a real location"

"But what if I'm in trouble?" Chuck wanted to know. "If I need backup right away?"

"If you're ever not sending the CIA your real location I'd better be with you." Sarah said. "I'll send out a distress signal from my phone if something happens, and we'll figure out a cover story if it comes to that. You're not planning on getting in trouble on this little trip, are you?"

"No ma'am."

Sarah leaned in and gave him a brief peck on the cheek. "Good. Do you have good hiking boots?"

"We're going hiking?" Chuck said, a little disappointment coloring his tone.

Sarah leaned back curling up as best she could in her chair. "Well, we've both got a lot of frustration to burn off, and I figured going for a run and getting all sweaty wouldn't be a great idea. I see the way you look at me after I work out."

"I get that. So. Where to?"

"There's some good trails in the woods up by Big Bear, nothing too difficult, but nice scenery. We don't want things to get too ...strenuous, do we?" Sarah said slow and soft and sensual. Smoke about shot out of Chuck's ears.

He swallowed nervously. "No. That... would be bad."

* * *

Even using the GPS in Chuck's phone, they managed to get lost somewhere in the National Forest. "That looks like where we needed to turn." Sarah insisted.

"Actually I think I recognize that fallen tree over on your side." Chuck said, pointing.

"Dammit! How can we have gotten lost, there's only like three roads through this place." Sarah seethed.

"We could stop and ask for direct... tions..." Chuck trailed off at the glare she was using to pin him to the passenger side window. He cleared his throat. "And as the man, I will say it's my fault we got lost?" The glare softened a little, and Sarah sighed and pulled the Porsche into a gas station.

"Don't get smug. We need gas."

"Because we've been lost and driving in circles for two hours." Chuck grinned and leaned across to give his girlfriend a peck on the cheek. "I'll go rustle us up some grub and some directions."

Sarah made a face. "Don't call it grub. I've had grubs. Not appetizing."

"I will rustle up some sandwiches?" Chuck tried. "And when did you go on Fear Factor? They didn't make you eat live scorpions or anything did they?"

Sarah smacked him. "Mission in Somalia, Bryce and I got separated and he had our MREs. I had to fend for myself for five days. Grubs are high in protein, and water content. Also kind of squishy. Like if Gushers fruit snacks were a little bit crunchy, and tasted like blood."

Chuck's stomach made an unhappy gurgling noise. "Uh... too much sharing there, honey. Maybe dial it back a little?"

She grinned. "Make up your mind. And don't wander too far. I'm still under orders to keep you in sight at all times."

Chuck smirked. "Orders, huh?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

* * *

Chuck was back with a pair of sandwiches before she'd finished filling up the Porsche's gas tank. "I got ham and cheese, and roast beef. Take your pick."

"Pickles on it?" Sarah asked, and the auto shut-off tripped. She put the gas cap back on and holstered the gas hose.

"No, they were pre-made. I got you a couple dill spears though."

"Roast beef, then." Sarah said, took her sandwich and pickles. "We going to eat in the car?"

"Picnic tables." Chuck pointed and Sarah locked the Porsche and set out after him. Sarah sat across from him and started unwrapping her pickles.

"Did you get any—" She started, but Chuck produced a pair of water bottles. "Mind reader, huh?" Sarah reached for one with a grin.

Chuck shrugged and took a huge bite of his ham and cheese. He took a moment to chew and swallow before going on. "Not really a bad bet that you'd be thirsty. That makes me psychic?"

"Maybe I'm just easy."

Chuck choked on his sandwich. "You're doing that on purpose." He managed once he finally got the second bite of his sandwich down.

"Doing what?" Sarah asked and took a slow lingering bite of pickle.

Chuck narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Stop it. You obviously want to talk about something, but you're nervous, hence the oh-so-subtle double entendre. Out with it. Did I really just say hence? Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Sarah sighed and took a bite of her roast beef to stall for time. "This is a good window." She finally managed to get out.

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "What are you talking about, we're outside. The birds are—well there aren't any birds singing, right now, but its all naturey out and everything. What window?"

She sighed again and looked at him through her lashes. "Its... Casey's gone, so no mission. We're pretty much already off the grid. If we left now, we could be two days gone before anybody even noticed we were missing. The plan's basically ready. We could ditch the Porsche, all the tracers, drive to the second to last dead drop in Portland and pick up our new identities. Half of the plan was built around the fact we'd have to ditch surveillance." The silence drew out. "Oh, god. I jumped the gun didn't I. You're not ready."

"Hey. Calm down." Chuck said, reached over and slipped his hands around hers. "If this is about last night and my out of control hormones."

She shook her head. "No. That's not what—" Her eyes took on a glint he couldn't quite name. "Three _years_ Chuck. This is about _my _out of control hormones. I just want to lock myself in a room with you for about a year and put yo—" Her phone rang. "Damn it!"

"Don't pick up." Chuck said. "Finish your thought."

Sarah checked the screen and growled deep in her throat. "I have to. It's work." She showed him the photo ID picture. Daniel Shaw's emotionless face peered back at him. Sarah rolled her eyes. "There goes our window." She put the phone to her ear and planted her elbow on the table so she could slump her head in her hand. "Walker."

"Where the hell are you two?" Shaw demanded.

"We got bored watching TV and decided to go for a drive." Sarah replied, frowning.

"Chuck's with you though?" There was an odd note of desperation in his voice.

"Yes of course, why?" Sarah asked, as confused as ever.

"Let me talk to him?"

"Shaw, what's going on?" Sarah said. "He's right across the table from me."

"You sure about that? His location beacon still has him in your hotel room back in LA." Shaw said.

Sarah winced and glanced at Chuck. Stupid GPS watches! She'd forgotten to plug in coordinates on her phone, or switch the watch back to normal transmitting, so it was just parroting back the location of the old watch. Sarah raised her eyebrows and shrugged sheepishly. She pressed the phone to her chest briefly. She whispered: _Play along_, barely more that mouthing the words, before putting the phone back up to her ear_. _"Chuck! Where the hell is your watch?"

Chuck's eyes widened and for a moment he almost panicked, but her eyes calmed him down. "What are you talking about it's right h-- oh hell."

"He must have taken it off when he was in the shower." Sarah explained off the cuff.

"I'm sorry Shaw." Chuck said loudly, "I just forgot."

"Where are you? I need to send a team to pick you two up. We've got a mission. I'm running a trace on your phone's GPS, Walker, but I keep getting gibberish. Did you do something to the transponder?"

"Yeah. Hang on." She rolled her eyes and fiddled with her phone. "There, the trace should come through now.

"Am I on speaker?"

"You are now," Sarah said and put the phone down on the picnic table. "It's just me and Chuck. We're secure for the moment."

"Okay. Where are you?"

"Uh." Sarah craned her neck, searching in vain for street signs. "We actually kind of got a little lost. Chuck, did you get directions?"

"Yeah. We're in this tiny little place called Angelus Oaks? Its somewhere in the San Bernardino National Forest a few miles south of Big Bear. That's about all I can tell you."

"Oh, just a quick three hour drive both ways then, huh Walker? He said with biting sarcasm in case you missed it. Alright. The two of you just get to Edwards Air Force Base." Shaw said. "And hop the next transport leaving for Ramstein. You'll meet up with Colonel Casey and myself there."

"What exactly is the nature of our mission?"

"We'll go into specifics once we're all in the same room. I don't want to risk this going out over the air."

"Our phones are encrypted." Sarah complained.

"No encryption is perfect. I'm not going to risk it. I will say this. I want both of you to draw weapons and body armor at Edwards, Beckman's drawing up the paperwork now to get you into their armory. You're both set up as simulated Majors, so you should be able to get some of the better toys. I'll fill you both in when I see you. This is time sensitive, so move it." He hung up without bothering to say any sort of farewell. Sarah turned her phone off and pulled the battery just to be safe.

"You still want to run?" Chuck asked. Sarah growled in the back of her throat again. It was unnerving and sexy at the same time, and about in equal parts.

She sighed and shook her head with obvious reluctance. "We can't. Beckman will be expecting us at Edwards in what, two hours? There's no time now." She crossed her arms and put her head down on the table. "Stupid Shaw. Time sensitive my luscious ass."

"Please stop drawing attention to that." Chuck said. Sarah raised her head enough for him to see the little tiny half-smirk on her lips. Of course she knew what those kind of comments did to him. Now he could see the game she was playing. "You realize you're playing with fire."

"Yes." She said, smirk widening as she nodded. "And eventually I'm going to get rugburned." And there was really nothing Chuck could say to that without getting himself in worse trouble.

* * *

The drive to Edwards Air Force Base took more than two hours, with traffic, once they got out of the National Park. She gave off teasing him by rubbing her thumb suggestively across the gearshift after the first half hour. After that, when she wasn't actively shifting, her hand found his.

Sarah was pulling the Porsche up to the security gate, when she realized her mistake. "Take your watch off, stuff it under the seat or something. We can't risk Shaw or Casey noticing it when we get to Germany, and this is our last chance to hide it."

"I could just throw it away."

"Do you have any idea how much that thing cost?" Sarah demanded, and then the security guard tapped on the window, and her whole demeanor changed, her expression turned on a dime and she hit the switch to roll down her window. "Hey there. We're Majors Walker and Carmichael. You should have some paperwork?"

The Air Force MP grunted. "I need ID."

Sarah shrugged and grabbed her purse from the center console, handed the Warrant Officer her driver's license. He didn't need to know about her CIA involvement if Beckman was giving them military covers. Chuck dug his wallet out, and the telltale sound of the Velcro coming undone preceded him handing over his Carmichael identification.

The MP grunted again. Sarah glanced across at Chuck briefly, waiting for it.

"You don't happen to have a brother in the marines, do you?" He asked. "John Casey?"

The MP shrugged. "Sorry. Never heard of him. Here you go." He said and handed back their licenses. "Just one second." He went back into his shack for a moment, and returned with a sealed manilla envelope. Sarah passed it to Chuck.

"What's in here?" He asked.

"Above my pay grade, Major." The MP said. "You can park over by the BOQ, then the quartermaster is two streets over."

"Thanks." Sarah said simply and rolled the window up. The MP waved them through the checkpoint.

Chuck frowned. "Wasn't he supposed to salute us?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "We're out of uniform. So no." The car shuddered and a wall of sound descended on them briefly.

"What the hell was that?" Chuck demanded, still with his hands over his ears, when the sound died down to a background roar. He glanced around, worried the Ring was bombing them or something.

She scrunched down so she could look out the windshield and up. Sarah pointed out the C-17 Globemaster coming in for a landing. "Our ride."

* * *

Sarah parked and led the way to the Quartermaster, who turned out to be a young Air Force Captain in her late twenties, pretty with dark eyes, complete with long dark hair done up in a standard military bun. Sarah's eyes instantly darted to Chuck's reaction, but he was fiddling with his phone and had yet to notice.

"So, I've got orders to give you two basically anything that isn't nailed down, Major Walker, Major Carmichael." She glanced at her clipboard and then dropped it on her desk. "And not to write down what you took. You two need a hand finding anything?"

"Two BDUs. Size nine and a half womens boots. Size fourteen mens. Two heavy duffelbags." Sarah said tartly. "We'll grab everything else ourselves."

"Main armory is through there." The Quartermaster said, pointing, and tossed Sarah a keyring. "Happy hunting."

Chuck frowned once the Captain was out of earshot. "How did you know my shoe size?" She was busy unlocking the gate.

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist to lead Chuck down the first aisle. "CIA remember?" They stopped at a section with racked weapons lining each side.

It reminded him of the armory at Castle, but on a much larger scale. He went up on his tiptoes for a moment, peering into the distance. "I don't see any tranq guns."

She pursed her lips. "We're probably going into a combat zone. Iraq or Afghanistan most likely, if Shaw wants us to get body armor as well as weapons. So no tranqs." Sarah said it almost absently, looking through the drawers under the ranks of shotguns. She pulled one down and tossed it to Chuck. He flashed briefly. AA-12 fully automatic assault shotgun. The one currently in his hands had a 20 round drum magazine attached.

"Seriously?" Chuck said. "Sarah, I don't know if I could kill anybody even with my life on the line." She just rolled her eyes and hauled a box out from one of the drawers, then another. She pulled the first box open and slipped a 12 gauge shell out, tossed it to him. Chuck caught it and frowned. He didn't flash this time, and looked back to Sarah. "What is it?"

"Rubber bullets, honey." She said and shrugged. "But you'll have to take an M-4 and a sidearm too, or you'll draw attention to yourself."

"If we're going where you think we are." Chuck said. Sarah gave him a sour look and he shrugged. "Okay, so you're probably right. But I don't want to have to..."

"Stop. I know, okay." She frowned in thought. "I don't want you to have to kill anyone either. The first time I killed someone, it was awful. I was just out of college, and it-- they called it a Red Test."

"Shh, Sarah." Chuck said. "You don't have to talk about this if it hurts."

She smiled sadly. "That's why I have to tell you. I couldn't do it. I was going to let her go. But as I passed her, I thought she was drawing on me and instinct or training or whatever took over." She let the mask slip a little and Chuck put down the shotgun and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. But, let me finish." Sarah said, wiping at a tear. "I couldn't go back to check and make sure, and not knowing haunts me. I heard sirens and I had to get out of there. But if you ever find yourself in that situation, you pull the trigger just like I did, Chuck. Don't hesitate don't think, just act." Her voice wavered and she grabbed his arms hard. "If its them or you... You pick you. _Got it_? This is non-negotiable Chuck! You do not get to die on me."

"Acknowledged, Major Walker." Chuck said, and started to pull her back into a kiss, when someone cleared their throat behind them. Sarah was all of a sudden a full two steps away. Chuck blinked. The movement was so abrupt he could almost imagine she had always been six feet away instead of pressed up close to his chest.

The Quartermaster--Quartermistress? Chuck wondered-- had returned with the requested items. "Should I come back later, Majors?" She said, grinning. Sarah crossed her arms and glared, and the Air Force Captain shrugged and dropped the duffelbags and the boots, and went back to her desk.

Sarah grabbed a pair of standard issue M4 carbines, then followed them with assorted accessories, scopes, sights, laser rangefinder, modular grenade launchers, plus some ammunition. After a moment, she tossed a sheathed bayonet into her bag surreptitiously. She arched an eyebrow when she found a few extras she hadn't seen before. She cocked her head to one side and lifted the mass of wires and little black boxes out of its drawer to show him. "Chuck? You know what this thing is?" He shrugged and took a closer look. He didn't flash, but he recognized it.

"It looks like..." Chuck frowned. "I saw this on the History Channel. It's like a wearable tactical computer. I didn't think they were past the prototype stage, its not in the intersect anyway, but..."

"You want one." Sarah grinned and stuffed it into his duffelbag. "Nerd."

Chuck darted his eyes back toward the front desk, saw the back of the Quartermaster's head, and pulled Sarah in close, pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "Your nerd."

Sarah gave him a warm smile and nodded. "I like the sound of that." She pushed him away. "Okay. Now we need some body armor for you." Chuck started pulling open drawers, found some camouflage vests and pulled one out.

He glanced over at Sarah. "You can't be serious." Chuck said, holding his bulletproof vest idly. Sarah was having trouble hauling the heavy armor out of its case. "That's--Is that a bomb disposal suit? I can't wear that!"

Sarah scowled and planted her hands on her hips, letting the empty suit fall, though its heavy construction made it stick up out of the drawer like the shell of some bizarre crustacean instead of toppling over right away. "Can't or won't? I want you to be safe."

"You said it yourself. I can't draw attention to myself by not having a standard assault rifle. I also probably shouldn't be wearing a Kevlar fat-suit." Chuck said. "The thing's got to be an absolute bullet magnet. And I doubt it will fit in the duffel."

"Fine." Sarah grumped. "But put that flimsy little Flak Jacket down. I want you in the top of the line one. Dragon-skin ceramic armor with the high grade Kevlar and the arm-guards and everything."

"What's good for the gander." Chuck said, and grabbed another of the heavier vests for Sarah.

* * *

They barely made it up the rear cargo ramp of the C-17 before the Cargo Officer hit the controls. It was inching closed as Chuck lugged the equipment Sarah had insisted he bring behind him. Sarah had a little less to carry, without a shotgun and with her sidearm tucked in the back of her jeans, but he still felt a little insecure that she was having a noticeably easier time with her burdens. She had laughed at him when he tried to take both. The Cargo Officer, a Sergeant, waved them through to the front of the huge cargo jet, where they found a pair of jump seats.

Chuck collapsed into one of them and Sarah grinned and rolled her eyes at the same time. The Sergeant came up, and pulled back some of the cargo netting. Sarah kicked Chuck in the leg gently and cocked her head in the Sergeant's direction, hoisting her duffelbag as she went. Once they had stowed their gear, Sarah went back and sat next to him. She made sure he got the 5-point seat-belt on properly, and though her hands dipped dangerously close to his unmentionables, he was pretty sure it was out of necessity and not flirtation.

The manilla envelope held their new identification, naming them both Special Liason Officers, whatever the hell that meant. He started to ask, but the engines cycled up, drowning him out. Sarah tried to shout over the engines, asking him what was wrong, it looked like, but lip reading wasn't in the intersect, or at least he wasn't flashing on it at the moment. He just shrugged and put an arm around her shoulders. Sarah tensed and glanced around, but nobody was around to see, so she put her head down on his shoulder and was asleep within minutes of takeoff. Chuck sometimes envied that ability of hers. But not right now. She looked so damn adorable sleeping like that he couldn't resist.

After a minute or so of waving, Chuck managed to get the attention of the Cargo Officer, and got the man to snap a picture of Sarah asleep on Chuck with his iPhone. Chuck grinned and nodded to the Air Force Sergeant, took his phone back, and let his head fall down on top of Sarah's. Before he knew it he was asleep as well.

TO BE CONTINUED

* * *

A/N: So I have this story listed as Action/Adventure/Romance like my other story. That's not a _complete_ lie. I promise. Action/Adventure coming up, it just took a long time to get there.

I love getting feedback, positive or negative. Feedback is feedback. Reviews are always appreciated. Isn't that little button down there tempting? Can't you hear it whispering to you, saying: Click me... Click me...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Finished with the last of my coursework. Now I just have to grade one last giant batch of papers and its time for summer vacation.

Chapter 7:

Chuck woke up from their little nap well before the plane was ready to land in Germany. He glanced around to make sure the coast was clear before kissing the top of Sarah's head and struggling to his feet. The 5-point restraints were a little complicated getting out of, but he managed it. Sarah opened one eye when she felt the warmth of Chuck's arm around her leave. She watched with a hint of a grin on her lips as he explored the cargo compartment.

After about a minute of watching him nerd out at all the hardware in the cargo pallets, Sarah spotted the Cargo Officer watching her with a smirk. She glared and the man shrugged and said something into his headset, turned back into the fore crew area. Sarah frowned. The man obviously thought something was going on between her and Chuck. It was, but still, she needed to get back into character for whatever mission they were headed to Germany for. That meant no more smiling at cute things Chuck did, and it definitely meant no more PDA. The thought made her good mood evaporate, and Sarah furrowed her brow and checked her watch. They'd been in the air for all of four hours. Perfect, only another thirteen hours in the air before they hit Ramstein, and she had to sit next to Chuck and not do anything? Sarah was glad of the engine noise. It covered the angry growl in the back of her throat.

She fumed silently for a few minutes before giving it up as pointless, pretended Chuck still had his arm around her, and tried to sleep the whole awkward plane ride away.

Chuck finally got bored of snooping on this particular shipment of electronics and military supplies. At least, that was how he justified it to himself. Chuck could feel Sarah's eyes on him and it made him awkward. He'd been looking forward to another day or two alone with Sarah, not having to censor himself, able to tell her exactly how he felt. He went forward to the crew section, hoping to distract himself from the hotness sitting next to him. The Cargo Officer and a couple other members of the flight crew were sitting around a card table.

"What are you playing?" Chuck shouted. The Cargo Officer rolled his eyes and tapped his headset, indicated a rack on the wall behind Chuck with several more headsets. Chuck grabbed one of the headsets, intrigued. Wireless, obviously, with what looked like a fairly high tech encryption module. It was nowhere near the tactical radios Sarah had brought over that night when Hannah was getting handsy, but still a nice bit of tech. Chuck put the oversize earpieces over his ears and the noise of the engines all but disappeared. His eyebrows went up. He turned to inspect the remaining headsets, intrigued by the noise canceling hardware.

"You want in, Major?" It was the Cargo officer, piped through the earpieces of his new headset, and Chuck had almost forgotten about the man. He resisted the urge to jump a foot in the air.

"Uh, what are you playing?" Chuck said.

"Texas hold'em. Ten dollar buy in." He shrugged, and pointed at the reserve flight crew. On flights more than twelve hours, government regulations required secondary relief pilots to trade off. In the mean time, poker was played. "Flyboys insist on playing for money."

Chuck fished out his wallet, tore the velcro open and extracted a twenty. "Deal me in." Any distraction was worth it. It turned out, the flight crew had smuggled a cooler full of Red Bulls aboard.

"So you fly out of Edwards all the time?" Chuck asked, glancing at his cards. "Or is this a onetime thing?"

"Well, we could tell you. But we'd have to kill you." The Cargo officer said, grinning. "That's how it works, right CIA?"

"Am I that obvious?" Chuck asked, laughing. "And you're still playing poker with me? Aren't you afraid I'll deal off the bottom or something?"

"Oh we're not going to let you _deal_." One of the airmen said. "We didn't all just fall off the back of the turnip truck 'major.'"

"Yeah, just you Kowalsky." Another Airman shot back. Chuck laughed and vowed not to flash on poker probabilities, it would just be rude to take their money like that. The game went on and on, and the hours bled away. When one of the crew members needed to attend to the business of military necessity, he—or she, Chuck finally realized that the Airman sitting across from him was actually a woman after a few hands. The bulky flight suit and the goggles had done a passable job of disguise—would just be dealt out until their return. At the midway point of the flight, the reserve crew shifted their chips to the primary crew and play continued. Just by osmosis, Chuck learned more than he would have expected about the C-17 Globemaster and its various onboard systems, all without flashing.

The pilot eventually cut in on the intercom channel the rest of the crew was using. "Starting descent. Everybody go get strapped in." Chuck doffed his headset and winced at the sudden return of the overwhelming engine noise. A throbbing started behind his eyes and Chuck pinched his nose as he sat down next to Sarah. She looked like she was still asleep, but that didn't make any sense. Seventeen hours asleep? He knew she could put herself to sleep almost on cue, but this was like... hibernation or something. Still, Chuck didn't want to wake her if he could avoid it, and so he did his best to hook his 5-point restraints back together.

Twenty minutes later, when the giant airlifter finally came to a halt, Chuck and Sarah retrieved their duffels and trudged down the cargo ramp onto the tarmac. The engine noise still made talking a chore, but Chuck yawned. "What time is it?"

Sarah stretched and darted a glance at him. "Here, or back in LA?"

"I'm only going to want to know one of these, aren't I? Here." Chuck said.

"Little after seven PM. Sunday." Sarah flashed her Major Walker ID at a passing MP, and suddenly they magically had their own Jeep and some measure of privacy again. Sarah drove, like always. "How much money did you lose?" She asked, a touch of mischief in her eyes.

"So you didn't just sleep the whole time. Sneak." Chuck said. "Tsk tsk. I wag my finger at you."

Sarah rolled her eyes, took one hand off the wheel to point at herself. "_Spy_. Remember? And you didn't answer my question."

"I won fifty bucks if you must know." Chuck said.

Sarah grinned. "I'm impressed. That's— You didn't flash, did you?" She said, scandalized.

"Of course not!" Chuck shot back. He waited a beat. "Do you know where you're going?" Chuck wanted to know.

"One of the main admin buildings. They'll know where to send us."

"Okay. And seeing how this is probably the last time this trip it'll be safe to tell you this. I love you."

Sarah squeezed his knee. "Me too."

Chuck grinned. "You too what?"

Sarah grinned just as broadly, eyes twinkling. "Don't push your luck."

* * *

A balding Air Force Lieutenant showed them to a conference room where a pair of MPs were stationed outside. Shaw was sitting at the head of the table, with file folders and sheafs of satellite photos strewn everywhere. The conference table was made to seat twelve, and the whole thing was covered with intelligence documents. Chuck recognized the red-dashed borders of Top-Secret documents splayed out like they were old takeout menus. Special Agent Daniel Shaw was a mess. He glanced up from the haphazard pile of papers. "Good, you're here. Have a seat. Both of you. Once Casey gets here we can get started."

"How've you been?" Chuck offered. "You know, since the whole... shooting yourself in order to fake your death, 'thing.' Your shoulder doing better now?"

Shaw arched an eyebrow. "I'm fine, Chuck."

"What can you tell us about this mission?" Sarah said into the awkward silence. "I had seventeen hours to stew about it on the plane, and I want to know."

"Sorry Walker." Shaw said. "I don't want to repeat myself. Let's just wait for Colonel Casey." Chuck rolled his eyes and picked up one of the folders from the conference table at random and started reading. "Put that down."

Chuck sighed and glanced at Sarah.

"Don't I have clearance?"

"Everything is arranged carefully." Shaw explained. "I know exactly where everything is."

"I'll just sit on my hands then?" Chuck said. "If that's okay with you? Or maybe I should just hold my breath so I don't breathe some of your air? I can hold my breath for almost two minutes."

Sarah snorted and Shaw glared at her. "Well, it's a valid question. You're not being a very gracious host, there Agent Shaw."

He sighed. "Just make sure you put it back where you got it from." Shaw wasn't much for small talk, or any-talk for that matter. It made for an awkward wait, and Sarah didn't want to read through files at random hoping for a nugget of good intel on the mission. She sat next to Chuck and folded her hands in her lap to wait.

There was a thump outside the conference room, and Sarah's hand darted for her Smith & Wesson. Chuck froze. Shaw had a standard issue glock in his hand a split-second behind Sarah. The door burst open, and Casey sauntered in, dragging a huge black-plastic gun crate behind him. He stopped and took in the scene in front of him. He let out a grunt. "Thanks for the warm welcome. Touchy much?"

"Hey, Casey." Chuck said. "Great to see you. I hope you brought enough guns to share with the whole class?"

Casey rolled his eyes and grunted. "Sorry Bartowski. Just brought enough for me. Now lets get on with this, Shaw. I could be blowing stuff apart on a firing range right now. Spill."

Agent Shaw shrugged and put his sidearm down. Sarah had replaced hers in its usual spot as soon as she'd realized it was Casey. "You'll all remember the mission at the museum. Thanks to your quick thinking Colonel, we captured Vasilis and his men. All the others were just hired muscle, though the Russians have got some plans for the rogue KGB man you identified. Vasilis though, has begun to cooperate. That's why we're here. Hang on just one second." Shaw grabbed a remote and turned on an overhead projector. "Casey can you get the lights?"

The Colonel grunted and the room darkened. Casey walked between the projector and the screen, grunted at being half blinded, and found a seat across from Chuck and Sarah at the conference table.

"Okay." Shaw said. A picture popped up on the display, a middle aged man with a touch of gray at his temples and a small car running across his left eyebrow. "This was the man who helped broker the deal. The purchase of the Cyclosarin was his project. His name is Ernst Henkle. I need to have a 'conversation' with him. Vasilis' shipment of the chemical weapon was just a feasibility exercise. A sample. From what Vasilis has told us, the main production facility is somewhere in Afghanistan." Sarah shot Chuck an 'I told you so' kind of a look. He shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"And you're hoping Henkle knows where this facility is in less general terms than a country the size of Texas." Casey put in.

"Yes. I'm sure of it. He's in Berlin, staying at the Adlon Kempinski under the name Anton Engvald." Shaw said, and the slide changed to an exterior shot of the building. It looked like a box more than anything, though judging by the way Casey and Sarah had both reacted to the name, it was better on the inside.

"So, let's go talk to him." Chuck said. Everyone in the room looked at him like he was crazy. "What did I say?"

"Ernst Henkle is wanted by four different national intelligence agencies, including the German BND." Sarah explained. "He makes any _one_ of us as CIA and he's a ghost, and if the BND is closing in on him and we interfere, it could start an international incident."

"And he knows I'm supposed to be dead." Shaw said. "We've crossed paths a couple times."

"Let me guess." Chuck said. "You gave him that scar."

Shaw shook his head. "Uh, no. Actually, from what I hear, that was a childhood soccer injury. Nothing to do with his time with the BND, or his connections to international terrorism."

"Oh." Chuck said. "Well thats actually a little disappointing, I was expecting something exciting, you know? So how do we get him to talk?"

Sarah glared at Shaw, a sour expression. "I assume you're expecting me to get the information out of him?" She said with a sigh.

"No, just get him up to his room without raising his suspicions. We'll take him into custody and I'll get the information out of him myself." Shaw walked across the room and flicked the lights back on. "I've got a Gulfstream waiting. Should take us less than an hour to get to Berlin. He usually drinks until at least ten or eleven so we have a decent window."

"Uh. One problem that I see." Sarah chimed in. "I'm gonna need something to wear. I packed for a combat zone, not a fancy hotel. I think I might stand out in BDUs and body armor."

* * *

The ride on the Gulfstream 5 was a lot less noisy than the C-17 had been, but no less awkward. Casey wasn't much good at small talk, unless he was demeaning Chuck somehow, and Shaw seemed more interested in whatever was in the current file folder out of the stack in front of him on the table than anything else going on in the plane.

Chuck sat facing Sarah across a small table built into the floor of the plane. Casey got up to go to the bathroom and Chuck grinned at her, nudged her ankle gently with his foot. Sarah's lip quirked, just for a moment, before putting the act back on. Her eyes darted across the cabin to Shaw. _Don't start something you can't finish. _Her eyes said.

Chuck shrugged and glanced at Shaw, who was still reading with no sign of stopping. _Because he's so on top of it right now? Please? _His eyes replied.

Sarah frowned. _Not now. We're working._ She pulled a deck of playing cards from her purse and slapped them down on the table, putting an end to their telepathic conversation. The flight took only forty five minutes, due to favorable wind conditions, and their plane touched down with hardly a bump in Berlin.

"Okay." Shaw said. "Chuck and I will get the room set up and—"

Sarah cleared her throat. "Don't you think that'll draw more attention than we want? Two guys getting a room together?"

"And why do we need a room anyway? I thought Casey and I would just take care of surveillance from the van like we always do?" Chuck said.

"This isn't a debate." Shaw said, then took in the determined looks on Team Bartowski's faces. "Fine Walker. Chuck, go with Sarah. I don't want to put the intersect out in the field alone in a foreign country. Casey can help me get eyes on the target. We'll all meet up at the hotel bar, at nine-thirty."

Sarah walked off, doing a fair impression of angry. Chuck couldn't figure out why exactly, they were supposed to be friends according to the cover Casey and Shaw were supposed to believe. He started out after her, but Casey put a hand on his arm to stop him. "Bartowski, here." He whipped out a tranq pistol and spun it around so the grip was facing Chuck. "Go easy with this thing though. I only have two spare clips back in the plane."

"Thanks Casey. I'll see you in the van."

"No van, Bartowski." The older man said. "This is your first mission on foreign soil. Rules are different, especially because this is a friendly country. Walker can explain."

* * *

"Hey, Sarah wait up!" Chuck jogged to catch up with her at the Taxi stand outside the airport. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She said and Chuck rolled his eyes.

"You realize I've gotten to know you well enough that you can't lie to me effectively anymore?" Chuck said. "I know all your tells."

"No you don't." Sarah said.

"Sure. Okay." Chuck said. "Just now, when you said I don't know all your tells. Like three tells there. You want me to go down the list?"

"No." Sarah shrugged one shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"The mission."

"What about it?" Chuck frowned, confused.

Sarah rolled her eyes and fixed him with an incredulous glare. "Seriously?" She asked. "You really don't know what might be bothering me about having to seduce some other guy? Or what might be bothering me about you being fine with it?"

"I'm not 'fine' with it." Chuck said softly. "I'm secure in our relationship. I know where we stand. I love you. And I'm not jealous that you're going to have a drink with this guy and trick him into taking you up to his room where me Casey and Shaw will all be waiting to arrest him. Are you just mad I'm not making a jealous spectacle of myself?"

"Maybe." Sarah allowed.

"Okay, I can do jealous spectacle with the best of them, you've been warned." Chuck said, limbering up, theatrically stretching his arms over his head and doing a couple quick deep knee bends. "Okay, get ready: I can't believe this! They can't make you have a drink with some other guy. It's crazy! Feel better?"

Sarah rolled her eyes again, but smiled and leaned into him. "Goof." She said fondly and darted a look behind them. She couldn't tell if Casey or Shaw were hiding somewhere spying on them. It was unlikely in the extreme, they had their own work to do, but still it was a risk. Sarah rolled her eyes. Screw it. She went up on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. A taxi finally spotted them and pulled in.

"So, where to?" Chuck asked Sarah while holding open the car door for her. "I don't guess they have Nordstrom's in Germany?"

Sarah leaned forward in her seat. "Friedrichstrasse einundsiebzig."

"Ah, Sie wollen etwas einkaufen nach dem langen Flug?"

"Ja, die Fluglinie hat unsere Koffer verloren."

"Mein Beileid. Ich hoffe Sie haben nichts wichtiges verloren?"

"Nur Kleidung."*

"Ah, that's good." After that, the cab driver was busy driving and Chuck took the opportunity to lean in.

"What was that about?" Chuck whispered.

"Just a little cover story." She whispered back. "Um, Chuck. You're _speaking_ German. Didn't you flash?"

"Yeah, just not until most of the conversation was over." He shrugged. "The... you know... doesn't give me perfect recall of what was said before I flash."

"We're both going to need new clothes." She said. "So, department store, that's basically the gist of it."

"Oh?" He grinned. "You going to model them for me?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and put her finger to his lip, pushed him away a little. "Ananas, Liebling.**"

* * *

They made it to the hotel with minutes to spare, Sarah in her new purple dress, and Chuck in a pair of slacks and a dark blazer over the t-shirt he'd been wearing for two days. Sarah grinned a little at that, sometimes there was no arguing with the Faux-paws t-shirt.

Chuck let Sarah go in, and waited outside for a couple minutes so that they wouldn't be seen arriving together, then went in, found Casey and Shaw sipping drinks at a table. Ernst Henkle/Anton Engvald was at the bar, with Sarah. Chuck's jaw tightened, despite what he'd told Sarah waiting for the taxi, he was a little jealous. "Come on, Bartowski, no staring."

The three of them got up and walked to the elevator. "You know the room number?" Chuck asked once the doors closed.

Shaw tapped his earpiece. "Three forty three. Walker's moving fast tonight."

Casey grunted and darted his eyes at Chuck, who arched an eyebrow. "Grow up, Casey. We're just friends." Which elicited another grunt.

At the third floor, they found the room quickly. Shaw slipped out a lockpick set and knelt down to work on the door. Seconds stretched out into a minute. "Uh, you need a hand Shaw?" Casey asked.

"I got it." He sniped back. "Just give me a second."

"We don't have time for this. Walker's bringing him up in the elevator right now." Casey growled.

"I'm well aware, Casey. And I could do without the color commentary. Ha." Shaw said, and the door opened. "Get inside, hurry."

Casey took up position behind the door and Shaw went over and sat in the plush armchair. "Uh, am I missing something?" Chuck asked. "Where do you want me?" He pulled his tranq pistol.

"What, real gun too dangerous for you?" Shaw asked with a smirk. "You can hide in the bathroom."

Chuck frowned for a moment, then extended his arm, sighting in. The dart hit the chair an inch to the left of Shaw's head. Chuck shrugged. "Look at that. Didn't even need to flash."

Casey let out an amused grunt, and Chuck started for the bathroom. He grabbed Chuck's arm. "What did I tell you about wasting ammo?"

Chuck arched an eyebrow and shrugged. Casey rolled his eyes. "Okay, but don't make a habit of it."

* * *

Ernst was a little distracted by the blond--okay, a lot distracted--or he probably would have noticed the faint scratches on the lock. Getting the key in the lock took most of his concentration, and then once he had the door open, the blond's demeanor turned on a dime and she elbowed him in the face. Ernst staggered into his room, and the door slammed shut behind him. A huge bear of a man with a silenced pistol was hulking behind the door. He reached for his weapon, but the blond was holding it, with her finger through the trigger guard so that it hung suspended. The bathroom opened and another agent with a gun came out.

"Scheisse.***" He said, and put his hands up.

"Long time no see, Ernst." A voice said from deeper in the room. He cocked his head a little, peered into the gloom. Shaw turned on the lamp.

"Ah! I should have known." He turned to the blond. "Your accent is very good. I would have you pegged you as DGSE, not CIA."

"I'm flattered." She said flatly. "Chuck?" The blond put out her hand expectantly. The curly haired agent reached into his blazer and pulled out-- a toothbrush!

"Here you go, Sarah."

"Please. My breath was not so bad as that, was it?" Ernst pleaded. The blond, Sarah, rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom, proceeded to scrub her teeth vigorously. He sighed. Just like the CIA to add insult to injury.

"You know why we're here?" Shaw asked.

"I believe I can piece it together." Ernst said. "Vasilis gave me up?" He narrowed his eyes. "And I thought you were supposed to be dead, Shaw."

"Rumors of my death," Shaw said, gesturing with his sidearm expansively. "Greatly exaggerated and all that. You know the line."

Ernst nodded. "I assume its no use claiming ignorance? Ah, fine. I have the coordinates and schematics of the compound here. I am just going for my keys. Do not shoot." Ernst reached into his pants pocket and tossed his keys to Shaw. There was a USB flash drive attached. "The drive is encrypted, yes? I give you the encryption key, and you turn me over to BND. That is my deal."

"Or we can just get it out of you the old fashioned way." The big man growled behind him.

Ernst turned. "In Germany we have no death penalty. I might someday breathe free air again if BND takes me. You Americans and your death chamber is not so good a deal from my perspective, torture or no torture."

"Fine." Shaw said. "You have my word."

Ernst nodded. "The key is the name of my favorite hotel. Adlon Kempinsky. Though now I will have bad memories of the place, yes?"

"I wouldn't count on it." Shaw said, raising his gun.

"No! You gave your word!"

* * *

Sarah heard the distinct swish of silenced gunshots and darted into the main room, toothbrush still in her mouth, Ernst's stolen Ruger at the ready. "What the hell!" Chuck shouted.

"Quiet Bartowski." Casey said. Ernst Henkle was down, two red holes in his forehead, and a spreading crimson stain in the expensive rug.

"He killed him!" Chuck said fiercely, and continued in a lower tone. "He just shot a man in cold blood!"

"If I let him live," Shaw said. "He could have told someone in the Ring I'm still alive. Their continued belief that I'm dead is the only advantage we have over them. I'm not about to give that up for your delicate sensibilities, Bartowski."

Casey grunted, impressed in spite of himself. Chuck was turning a little green. "Don't you dare puke on my shoes, Bartowski." Casey said, grabbing the younger man by the shoulders and pointing him back toward the bathroom.

Chuck nodded and padded across the room in a daze. Sarah stepped aside so he could get through the door, then followed to spit her toothpaste out in the sink.

"You were planning this the whole time." Casey said accusingly. His voice just carried into the bathroom. "That's why we broke into security and looped the cameras for this floor."

"Yes." Shaw said. "Are you surprised?"

"You could have at least clued _me_ in." Casey said. "Bartowski's the squeamish one, not me. I'd have helped you carry him to the bathtub at least, now we've got blood everywhere." Chuck retched and hunkered face down at the commode.

"Sorry Colonel. Force of habit."

In the bathroom, Sarah crouched behind Chuck, put her hand gently on his shoulder. "You okay?" She whispered and handed him a wad of toilet paper.

Chuck wiped his mouth. "I hate this part." Sarah filled one of the plastic cups with water and offered it to him.

"I know." She whispered. "Me too. Did we at least get what we came for?"

Chuck nodded sadly and rinsed his mouth out.

"Come on, get up." She said. "We've got to get out of here before the cops come. Or hotel security. The walls are pretty thick, but somebody might have heard you shouting." Sarah reached over and hit the flush lever. She took the precaution of wiping down Chuck's glass, as well as the sink, the toilet and anything else he might have touched, before stuffing the toothbrush in her purse. She didn't want to risk either of their fingerprints showing up in a BND file in case they had to work in Germany again. Or if they somehow ended up here once they got off the grid. Highly unlikely, but Sarah always liked to have multiple contingencies laid out.

Sarah let Chuck lean against her as they made their way down the hall to the elevator. He was still recovering from what he'd seen, and neither Casey or Shaw seemed to be in any kind of helpful mood. It wasn't that he hadn't seen death before, she knew. It hadn't been this up close and personal, this vivid though, and that was part of it. But mostly Chuck's problem was the almost robotic way that Shaw had pulled the trigger. Shaw was an excellent spy, as far as cutting off his emotions went, and Sarah knew Chuck well enough that she could piece together what was going on in _his_ head. Chuck had seen a vision of himself killing like Shaw could, like Casey could-- she shivered a little-- like she could. That was what had Chuck so unnerved and barely able to walk straight for the moment. Just another little dig at his overly romantic image of her. Another little patch of her darkness seeping into his soul. She hoped it wouldn't tarnish too much before they could run.

She alternated glaring at Shaw and Casey. Casey at least had the good grace to appear apologetic, but Shaw just looked confused, as if he didn't know why she was angry at him. The four spies passed hotel security coming out of the elevator. Down at street level, they piled into a taxi back to the waiting Gulfstream business jet at the airport.

They were in the air again twenty minutes, before Ernst Henkle's body even had time to grow cold.

TO BE CONTINUED

* * *

*German translation fixed by reader _zipfe. _Mistakes in original translation are Babelfish's fault.

Translated text:

"Friedrichstrasse 71." (the address of famous Berlin department store Quartier 206)

"Oh, you're doing some shopping right off the plane?"

"Yes, the airline lost our bags."

"My sympathies. You didn't lose anything important I hope?"

"Just our clothes."

* * *

**German translation via me. Mistakes are mine.

Translated text: Pineapple, baby.

* * *

***German translation not included. :P

* * *

A/N: Once I get papers graded I should have more time to write. Probably expect an update once a week or so.

Reader _aardvark7734 _deserves thanks for pointing out a couple of flubs on my part that would probably have been caught if I had a beta reader.

I love getting feedback, positive or negative. Feedback is feedback. Reviews are always appreciated. Isn't that little button down there tempting? Can't you hear it whispering to you, saying: Click me... Click me...


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Got some writing done this weekend instead of grading papers. So, early chapter. I even got some work done on my thesis. Yay me!

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, nor do I own Casey, or Sarah, or even Shaw. Though I'm okay with that last one.

Chapter 8:

1140 CET (Somewhere over Central Europe)

"So, where exactly are we going?" Sarah asked, aboard the Gulfstream business jet.

"Afghanistan," Shaw replied. "Didn't we go over this?"

Sarah glared. "I _meant_, where in Afghanistan. You've been fiddling with that computer for an hour."

"Why don't you go check on Chuck? I'm almost ready." Shaw said. "He's been in there a long time, and I don't want to start the briefing without him."

Casey grunted. "I wouldn't do that if I were you Walker. If he's been in there that long, chances are he's... you know. Indisposed." He illustrated the thought with a vulgar hand gesture. Repeatedly.

"Ugh!" Sarah made a disgusted wince and rolled her eyes. "Please, John. He just saw a man die, I'm sure _that's_ the last thing on his mind." She frowned. It better be the last thing on his mind. As appealing an idea as joining the mile high club with Chuck was, she didn't want to walk in on _that_. Ever.

"Your funeral." Casey said, going back to his H&K product catalog.

She undid her seatbelt, went aft to the restroom, and knocked softly. "Go away," Chuck's voice came through the door.

Sarah felt a slow smile growing on her lips. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Sarah said. "We're going to start the briefing pretty soon. Open up."

The door slid open immediately and Chuck turned from his spot on the floor back to lean over the toilet. "Hey," He said. "I didn't know it was you."

"Did you throw up again?" Sarah asked, concern lacing her voice.

Chuck shrugged, "No." Sarah frowned and stepped in, then wrinkled her nose, but left the door open so if anybody was feeling like snooping, they wouldn't get to make something of the closed door. Casey particularly would have a one-liner ready that would blush her cheeks right off her face.

"That thing you said earlier about tells?" Sarah said with a grin. "Works both ways. Also this is a smelly lie."

Chuck shrugged again and gazed up at her. "Fine. I puked. Happy?"

"No," Sarah whispered. "But this next part is going to be worse. I need you to be strong for me."

"Worse how?"

"Afghanistan isn't exactly a hotbed of international tourism. Especially for people in US issued Battle Dress," Sarah said. "We're probably going into combat, maybe even before we get to the production facility. And that's a whole different set of rules. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I don't know," Chuck frowned.

"Do you remember Mauser?"

"Kind of hard to forget," Chuck said, and shivered.

"That's the kind of thing I'm talking about," Sarah said. "You'll have to make that kind of split-second decision I was talking about, you or them. This isn't going to be like Burbank. We're not going to have time to talk people out of shooting at us. And we might not have the luxury of being good people this time. I know you don't want to have to kill anybody, and that's why I got you all those rubber bullets for the shotgun. But..."

"But if we end up in a pitched gun-battle, that's also why you made me bring an M4," Chuck said. "I kind of figured that out already. Hence puke numero tres."

She pursed her lips to stop from grinning at his innocence. "You always were too smart for your own good."

"And it isn't like we can talk about stuff like this with Shaw and Casey around," Chuck said. "Can we?"

"We're doing pretty good right now," Sarah said, and darted her eyes at the open door. "Come on, Shaw wants to start the briefing."

* * *

"Okay, that should—" Shaw cut off, glanced up at the screen. The image was visible, but there were a few patches of static making the text unreadable. He punched the laptop and the fuzz cleared up, just for a moment, before coming back worse than ever. "Piece of junk. Okay, I can do this without the projector."

"Uh, I can probably help. I only did that kind of thing for a living for like seven years," Chuck said.

Shaw rolled his eyes. "Fine. Come on," He stepped away from the table to make room for Chuck.

"No, I see what you did here," Chuck said, once he'd crawled under the table. "Easy mistake to make, just let me. Huh."

"What's wrong?" Casey asked.

"Um. Is there supposed to be a little black box with a blinking red light attached to this thing?" The flash hit him and Chuck tried to stand in a panic, hit his head and collapsed. "Ow! Bomb. Bomb! _It's_ a bomb, I just flashed!"

"Son of a bitch," Casey growled and hauled Chuck out from under the table by a foot.

"Whoa-hey!" Chuck said, sat up and rubbed his head. "Watch the merchandise."

"Shut it Bartowski," Casey growled and crawled under the table. His grunt was audible. "Shaw, go grab my toolkit from my bag?"

"On it, Casey." Shaw darted aft.

"You okay?" Sarah asked, helping Chuck to his feet.

"Just a bump to the head," Chuck said. "Not like it hasn't happened before."

"Seems like for a guy with a computer in his head, you'd take better care of it." Sarah grinned and took the excuse to smooth his hair down. After a long moment, she decided against kissing it to make it better, and peered under the table. "You got any idea how much time we have on that thing Casey?" It would determine whether or not she dragged Chuck back to the bathroom to get as far as she could before the explosion hit.

He grunted. "I don't see a timer. Maybe it could be a remote trigger? I've never seen anything like this."

Shaw came back from the tail section of the plane where the bags were stowed, a parachute in each hand. "Walker, get Chuck into one of these. Chuck, did you see anything else when you flashed? Anything that could tell us who put the bomb on the plane?"

"There's no timer," Sarah said. "Casey's working on it."

"Casey can hear you. Where's my toolkit, Shaw?" The Colonel grumbled.

Shaw squatted down and shoved the wrapped bundle under the table to him.

"Can I get another look at it?" Chuck asked.

Shaw scooted out of the way and passed Chuck a flashlight. "Be my guest, Bartowski."

Sarah paused in unbuckling the parachute harness. "Why only two parachutes?"

Shaw shrugged his shoulders. "You'd have to ask whoever outfitted the plane. If we need to jump we're going to have to draw straws and buddy jump. Chuck's exempt, intersect and all. The rest of us are more or less expendable."

Chuck dropped the flashlight. "What!"

"Focus, Bartowski. I need that light," Casey yelled.

"I'm not leaving Sarah to die in a bomb blast," Chuck shouted as he peeked his head out from under the table.

Shaw rolled his eyes, and pulled his gun, pointed it at Chuck. "Yes you will."

Sarah fought down a grin. "No he won't. We already had the discussion about how ridiculous it is to shoot someone to save them from a bomb a couple years ago. He won that one too."

"Fine," Shaw growled. "Are you okay with us leaving the pilots to die?"

"I liked you better when you lived two thousand miles away." Chuck shot back.

"You and me both!" Casey yelled from under the table. "Now is anyone going to help me try to defuse this thing?"

Shaw's jaw dropped open, so did Chuck's. Somehow in their bickering it seemed they'd forgotten about that possibility. The older agent shook himself. "There's no timer, you said? Any luck finding whatever the triggering mechanism might be? Chuck, get down there and see if you can try to flash again."

Chuck crawled in next to Casey, and the Colonel shoved the flashlight back into his arms. Casey had managed to get the case open, and for a moment all he could see was a mass of wires. But then the flash came. He winced and shook his head, blinking out of the flash. "It's... whoah that's pretty cool. It's wired into the plane's GPS transponder. Why would they do that? Who would have the _tech_ to do that?"

Sarah sighed heavily. "It's the ring. They know we're coming."

"We don't know that for sure," Shaw protested. Sarah arched an eyebrow at him.

"So what, do we turn the plane around?" Casey said. "This thing could go off any second. If we're going to put her down, the closest US base is in Serbia, and I'd rather not show my face there again after the 'incident.'"

"Is there any country you've been to where they still like you when you leave?" Chuck said.

"Cram it, Bartowski."

"Must be that explosives clause in your contract," Chuck went on. "Blowing up our stuff tends to tick off even the best of us."

"Yeah? Need I remind you of a certain Crown Victoria? And I thought I told you to cram it, Moron," Casey said. "We get a ruling on that emergency landing, Shaw?"

"No, Sarah's right." Shaw said, coming to a realization. "If they know we're on to them they'll want to make as big a splash as possible. We're okay for now." He went forward to the cockpit. "Pilot. Change of plans. Break south and take a bearing for Souda Bay Airbase on Crete. Don't radio in the change in flight plan. Get us low, under Radar coverage. When we get challenged by the Souda Bay tower, come get Colonel Casey for the clearance."

When Shaw came back, Casey was still under the table. "It's alright Colonel, we'll change planes in Crete, let the bomb techs on the ground take care of that. We're safe for now."

"What?" Chuck said. "How can you be so sure?"

"The ring doesn't know I'm alive."

"You could have fooled me," Chuck said. "Bomb on a plane is fairly indicative if you ask me. You killed Ernst for nothing!"

Shaw glared for a moment, before ignoring the last bit. "I didn't ask. But thanks for the vote of confidence." Shaw said, rubbing his chin in thought. "And they don't know I'm alive. If they knew I was alive they wouldn't have trusted it to a bomb. I've given them enough trouble over the years, that I'm fairly sure I warrant the personal touch. At the very least, a sniper rifle. Although I'd think the director would want to be able to watch the tape over and over again. Probably they'd send a rendition team if they knew it was me."

"Oh, because that makes it better!" Chuck said. "They wouldn't blow you up because they want to torture you first? I'm just brimming with confidence now."

"Bombs are inexact, Chuck, even on a plane, we could still parachute out. A bomb this sophisticated, there's always a chance it fizzles. No, the ring doesn't know exactly who's on this plane, they just know they don't want us getting to Afghanistan safely. The GPS thing makes the most sense, from a psi-ops perspective. It's probably set to go off once we're in sight of the runway in Kabul, so there's no doubt it was a bomb, not mechanical failure or something mundane. Also it lets Beckman know they're on to her tricks with our communications, puts a little more of the air of mystery in it for them. The Ring loves that kind of thing."

"So they know we're coming, and we can't call in for agency backup without risking our cover," Casey said, a glimmer of anticipation in his eye. "Good thing I came prepared. How long to Crete?"

"Pilots said we're just leaving Serbian airspace now, so another half hour tops," Shaw said. "Let's get started on this briefing."

Casey let out an impressed grunt. Chuck's eyes widened and he glanced at Sarah incredulously. The man had icewater running through his veins.

* * *

"The Ring is set up... I was going to point to the projector, but oh well," Shaw said. "Their main base of operations is about fifteen miles north east of Jalalabad in the mountains along the boder between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It's a couple hours by car to Jalalabad from Kabul. We got some decent sat imagery of the area, which I can't show you because of our technical difficulties, but it's highly mountainous terrain. We'll need to coordinate onsite with US forces, get a helicopter maybe, but the noise could tip off the Ring and any Afghan forces they've bought off. I'm open to suggestions, Casey. I know you've worked the region extensively before."

"Most of my contacts are in the north, but I've got a couple friends owe me favors in the area. Delta Force has a team we might be able to snag for backup operating in that area." Casey grunted. "As long as everybody knows how to ride a horse? Bartowski?"

"I'll manage," Chuck said. "That reminds me. If the army is all over the place, why does the Ring think its a good idea to set up shop there. I mean, does it strike anybody else as weird?"

Casey grunted. "No actually. When we went in after Osama in 2001, the poppy growers and the drug cartels got together and threw a big party. Poppies means opium, means heroin. Before the Taliban took over, it was one of Afghanistan's biggest imports, but they cracked down on the poppy growers something awful. Now that they're out, its back to business as usual."

"Casey?" Chuck said. "You... almost sound like you like the _Taliban_."

"What!" Casey said. "You take that back, Bartowski. Granted, as far as anti-drug policies go, stoning _is_ pretty effective. But when you expand the practice to shoplifters and litterers and jaywalkers, I think maybe you need to take a step back and reassess the way your penal code is developing. Anyway. My point was, that there's a ready made smuggling operation on the ground there, all the Ring has to do is piggyback onto it, sift the powder, non-aerosolized form of the Cyclosarin into the raw heroin and bam, they can ship the stuff anywhere they want using existing smuggling methodologies."

"Oh."

"And once they have it in the US," Sarah said, taking up the explanation. "They can separate the drugs from the weapon chemically and sell both. From the Ring's perspective it's a double win. Also it explains their extensive contacts with organized crime figures in LA. Which was always bugging me. It's a big market. They've probably been planning this for years to fund other operations around the world. If we take out this operation for good, it's going to hit them where it really hurts. Their pocketbook."

"If we're done with the side-story?" Shaw demanded. "I was hoping we'd be able to go over more operational concerns."

Casey grunted. "I'll get on my satphone to one of my buddies in Delta."

"Don't tell him what we're after, he may be compromised or be in touch with someone who is," Shaw said.

"Who do I look like, Bartowski?" Casey said, then paused. "Don't answer that."

"Anything else we can get started on now?" Sarah wanted to know.

Chuck raised his hand. "Uh, actually. About my cover. I'm supposed to be at a Nerd Herd thing until, I guess today? Right? It is Monday? Sarah's got her 'stomach virus' thing going on, that could be pretty much open ended. But Big Mike is expecting me back at work in--sorry if my calculations are off--like twelve hours, and after the debacle with Hannah, I'm kind of on thin ice as it is."

"Is that all?" Shaw said, whipping out his phone and unfurling the satellite antenna. He dialed quickly. "It's ringing," He put a hand up to forestall Chuck's response, before going on in a fusty voice. "Yes, hello. This is Nordberg J. Petermann with Buymore Corporate. I'm heading up the Nerd Herd symposium in Oakland this year. I understand a Charles Bartowski is your store's representative this year. Yes. Uh-huh. No, nothing of the sort, he's been _very_ respectful with the female nerds."

Shaw put the phone to his chest and adopted a confused expression, mouthed: "Harrassment? Really?"

Chuck slumped and put his head in his hands. "My boss thinks I'm a freak. And I work with Jeff and Lester. But somehow _I'm_ the freak." Sarah smirked and patted him on the back.

Shaw shrugged and put the phone back to his ear. "Actually, the reason I'm calling is that he's been doing such good work here, we need him for a few extra days. Yes, absolutely, we should have him back to you by next Monday at the latest. Okay, thanks for saying so Michael." Shaw flipped the antenna back in, and went on in his normal tone of voice. "Anything else, Bartowski?"

Chuck shook his head helplessly.

* * *

"Great, thanks," Casey said. "We should be in Kabul sometime this morning if we can hop a freighter jet pretty quick. See you then." He hung up.

"News?" Shaw asked.

Casey nodded. "Yeah, I got in touch with an old buddy of mine. He and a couple of his guys have been operating basically off the grid except for an old contact number. I've got rendezvous coordinates. We should be able to get there pretty easy if we can commandeer a Humvee. He'll have spare horses and supplies waiting."

"Excellent," Shaw said. "Pilot says we're coming up on Crete. They're going to need you up front to talk us through the air cordon around the base."

Casey grunted. "Of course. On it."

Which left Chuck and Sarah in the passenger compartment with Shaw. Sarah got to her feet before the silence could become awkward. "We should probably change into our BDUs if we're going to try to hide the fact we're CIA to throw the Ring off," She said, and went aft for her duffelbag. "Dibs on the bathroom."

Before disappearing into the bathroom she tossed Chuck's duffelbag to him. He staggered back a step from the impact when he caught it. Shaw stifled a chuckle. Chuck glared at him and changed quickly, dumping his weaponry and supplies out onto one of the bench seats. Shaw raised an eyebrow. "Auto-shotgun?" He said, taken aback. I take back what I said before."

"Rubber bullets," Chuck explained and pulled his camouflage shirt over his head.

Shaw sighed, doing up his own bootlaces. "Way to live down to my expectations, Chuck. Really, nice going."

"Glad I could help. Jerk," Chuck said, and sat to tug his boots on. "Oh, I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have said that. You're not going to _shoot_ me, are you?"

"Listen, Bartowski. I've heard just about enough out of you about Ernst. He was _my _contact. At one point he was my _friend_. I didn't like doing it, but it _was_ necessary, and I won't have you making light of my decisions. Or questioning my tactical orders."

"Well I don't know what they teach you at how to suppress your emotions school. I never got that far in my spy training, but when I kill someone in cold blood, _then _I'll take my morality advice from you. Until then I'll thank you kindly to cram it, _Sir_."

Shaw shot to his feet, hands balling into fists, his control slipping. Maybe it was the killing was hitting him harder than Chuck thought."Watch it, Bartowski. You do not want to test me on this--"

"Boys!" Sarah barked, kicking the bathroom door shut behind her. "Stop bickering, or I swear to god, I'm going to turn this plane around." Their reaction was priceless, especially Chuck's. Sarah was decked out in full tactical gear. The heavy body armor with its multiple layers of overlapping ceramic plates was proof against almost any known small arms. Her M4 carbine was strapped securely to her back, and she had half a dozen flash bang and concussive grenades strapped over top of her body armor. Sarah also had a heavy duty Kevlar helmet leaned on her hip. With her blond hair flowing around her shoulders, she looked like a modern-day Valkyrie, and Chuck felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her. He only _just _stopped himself short of getting down on one knee and proposing on the spot. It was at the last possible moment--already bending his knee--that he remembered he wasn't supposed to be in love with her anymore and stifled the impulse. It looked like he nearly swallowed his tongue in the process.

Sarah grinned at the effect she had on Chuck. It was especially heartening considering the fact that she'd never been more covered up in all the time she'd known him. It felt nice knowing it wasn't necessarily just the curves that did it for him. The good feeling lasted until the instant she saw a similar, but less intense look in the eyes of Daniel Shaw. She groaned inwardly. That was a complication she didn't need.

TO BE CONTINUED

* * *

A/N: Really this wasn't supposed to be a full chapter. It was intended as just a quick lead-in to the next part of the mission, but the Ring surprised even me with that bomb on the plane, and all the characters had a lot more banter in them because of it than I expected. And here we are almost 4000 words later at a decent stopping point. Expect mayhem next chapter. The team may even get off the plane!

I love getting feedback, positive or negative. Feedback is feedback. Reviews are always appreciated. Isn't that little button down there tempting? Can't you hear it whispering to you, saying: Click me... Click me...


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Now that classes are over, I'm burning through my outline at lightning speed it seems.

EDIT: Reader _ArmySFC _dropped some knowledge on me in regard to Humvee tech specs that I was completely _floored_ to have shared with me. First-hand knowledge FTW! I felt that in the sake of realism some changes needed to be made to the chapter. Always awesome to hear from the people at the tip of the spear as it were.

EDIT: And re-reading my changes, this chapter's really a downer now.

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck, or many things I wish I owned.

* * *

Chapter 9:

**0200 CET **

**Souda Bay Airbase, Crete**

Before they got off the plane at Souda Bay, Shaw held out a black balaclava to Chuck. "Here, put this on."

"What for?"

"We haven't had time to run background on any base personnel, if anyone lays eyes on you, or me there's always a risk they could figure out who we are. And we don't want word getting back to the Ring. We need to keep the Intersect a mystery for your protection," Shaw said, and tugged his own head covering down over his head. "Do it."

Chuck shrugged and sighed and did as he was told. The cotton was smooth against his face, not scratchy like he was half expecting. "When can I take it off?"

"When I take off mine," Shaw said. "Everybody got their gear? good." He yanked down on the handle, pulled down the locking bar and the door opened to the sound of airtight seals giving way. An audible tchunk. The door folded out into a staircase and the four spies disembarked into the early morning darkness. "Casey, you're up."

A pair of Airmen were approaching, decked out in standard BDUs, with weapons at the ready. Their assault rifles had flashlights attached underneath the barrels, effectively blinding them. Chuck put up a hand against the glare. Casey strode forward impassively, the silver oak leaves glinting on his collar did wonder for their attitudes. The pair of men lowered their weapons. "You must be Lieutenant Colonel Casey? Welcome to Crete."

Casey grunted. "Thanks, but I won't be staying long. When is the next transport east?"

"Four hours, sir. The 6 am to KKMC in Saudi."

He grunted again. "Better get me the schedule. I'm on a time frame," He gestured over his shoulder at the Gulfstream. "And get the bomb disposal unit out here. We've got a stowaway."

It turned out the C-17 Globemaster to King Khalid Military City _was _the soonest flight, but if they waited another hour, there was a C-5 Galaxy headed direct for Afghanistan, with enough room to spare, that they 'borrowed' a humvee and drove it right up the nose ramp. The C-5 was bigger, faster, and could carry more than the C-17, but it cost more to operate. Not that that was really a concern for Team Bartowski at the moment. The seats inside the Humvee were much more comfortable than the jump seats Chuck and Sarah had made due with on their monster flight from Edwards two days earlier. Chuck blinked. Had that really been two days ago? His body was still in the transitional stage. He had no clue what time it was, except to know that he was exhausted. He slumped against the armor plating, M4 slanted down across his chest and his shotgun leaning against the door. "Do I really have to wear this thing in here?" Chuck said loudly.

The drone of the engines was a little less in the C-5 than it had been in their first cargo jet, but he chalked that up to the insulation of the Humvee. Shaw turned from the front passenger seat, and pulled up his own balaclava. "No. Just remember to put it back on when we land."

Chuck gratefully snatched the heavy shroud off and pressed his cheek against the cool metal door. There was an annoying rattle of the tacked on armor against his door from the plane's vibrations, but it eventually bled into the engine noise and helped lull him to sleep.

Landing in Kabul was fairly anti-climactic. Chuck had had a picture in his mind's eye of a combat zone, from more action movies than he cared to name. He had expected to be coming in to a hot LZ, rockets and tracer fire whizzing by, people screaming into their radio sets dramatically for close air support. Instead, Casey punching him in the shoulder yanked him out of dreamless slumber. "Wake up, Bartowski. We're a few minutes out from the rendezvous."

Chuck blinked and startled awake, "What! Aren't we still on the plane?"

Casey grunted and rolled his eyes. "Not for an hour and a half, Chuckles. You slept right through everything, Rip Van Winkle!" Chuck frowned and peered out the gunport on his side of the humvee. It wasn't much real estate as far as windows go, but that was the point, after all. All he saw was rocks by the side of a road, the occasional tree he couldn't put a name to. But that was nothing new, Chuck could barely tell a pine from an oak on his best day. It always seemed weird that people would obsess about what kind of trees were around. So he was a hopeless city boy, so what? Out the windshield he could see the back of another Humvee.

"So what time is it?" Chuck said through a dry, crackling throat. He glanced at his wrist to adjust his watch, before he realized he'd left it in Sarah's Porsche at his first Air Force base of the weekend.

"Almost 1400," Shaw shouted from the front seat. "We joined up with a small convoy as far as our meet."

Chuck glanced over at Sarah, next to him in the backseat, but there was more distance between them than he would have liked. She had her M4 poked through the gunport and was scanning for threats. "Still Monday though?" He said. "I hate Mondays." Sarah laughed softly, but with the noise of the engine he barely heard it.

"Yeah, sorry, Chuck. It's still Monday," She said.

Shaw turned in his seat, reached out and poked Chuck in the sternum. "Put your mask on."

Chuck sighed and tugged the black hood down to obscure his features.

"Casey?" Sarah said, "I see something," Then her whole body went tense. "Casey! Where did you say that rendezvous was supposed to be?"

"Two clicks north at the next fork, why?"

"Incoming!" She shouted, and opened up with her M4. Chuck pressed his hands to his ears against the sudden roar of automatic weapons fire.

"Shaw, get on the .50 cal!" Casey yelled, following the lead Humvee around an obstruction in the road. More than likely an IED. "Bartowski, stay down!" Bullets started pinging off the outer armor and Chuck huddled in a ball. The thunder of the top mounted M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun joined the crackling of Sarah's M4.

The Humvee in front of them went up in a roil of orange flame, clouds of smoke filling the windshield. A roar like nothing he'd ever heard ripped through his ears. Casey shouted something that was lost in the sound of the explosion. He punched the gas, spun the wheel viciously back the way they'd come to avoid the fireball and keep them on the road. The Humvee caught part of the wreckage of the lead vehicle and the world spun. The crunch and squeal of grinding metal assaulted his ears. He saw sky out the gunport in his door, and Chuck felt his arms flailing for purchase and then he saw hard packed dirt out the window as the world whipped crazily around them. There was a horrendous thud and dust and smoke everywhere. His head buzzed and spun, but the Humvee wasn't moving anymore. For a long moment he stared straight ahead blindly, not taking in anything and just feeling the air going in and out of his lungs, relishing the thud of his heart in his chest. He blinked and shuddered and glanced around. The world came back.

Shaw had been standing in the center of the Humvee, manning the heavy mounted gun. There was no sign of him, but one of the doors was open, tilted crazily on its hinges. Casey was sprawled across the front of the Humvee, blood trickling down his face from a tiny cut in his scalp, but he was conscious, shouting something. Chuck squinted and tried to read his lips. Something-er. That wasn't a very nice thing to call him. Casey's lips moved again, more slowly, purposefully. Walker. That's what he was saying. Oh god, Sarah. The high pitched whine wouldn't go away, but he nodded and turned his head. Even that took an effort. She lay like a broken doll, blond hair caked red with blood on one side, eyes closed. They were all laying on the ceiling, he finally realized. The Humvee had flipped. It must have been a roadside bomb that had taken out the point vehicle, something--maybe a Rocket Propelled Grenade. Chuck shook his head and winced at the pain. His thoughts weren't running in a useful pattern. Sarah! Sarah needed his help.

Chuck blinked dust and sweat out of his eyes, tried to brush his forehead with his hand, but his arm didn't work right. He shifted, rolled onto his side and thanked god his left arm still worked. Chuck reached out, fingers slipping in her blood and found the side of her neck. Pulse was strong. He pulled his hand back and gave Casey a thumbs up before trying to shift closer so he could inspect more carefully for other injuries.

He heard soft popping noises nearby, others, fainter, off to the left. His hearing was coming back, and he finally heard Casey's voice, soft and far away, calling out to someone outside the Humvee by the angle of his head. Sound came back fully in a rush. Over the continuous crack of automatic weapons, he heard Shaw's voice.

"Acknowledged. Get the package out! I'll cover as long as I can."

"You heard the man Bartowksi, come on." Casey's meaty paw grabbed at the collar of Chuck's BDU.

"I'm not leaving her." Chuck shouted.

"We've got to get out of here!" Casey growled. "We're sitting ducks. This isn't a negotiation, Bartowski." Chuck's head spun, but he managed to get his good arm around behind his back. He writhed and tugged, and finally his tranq pistol came out and around, pressed into Casey's neck. The colonel grunted. "Hell," and went for his own, but Chuck squeezed off two darts in quick succession and Casey fell limp.

Chuck dropped the tranq pistol and shifted, pulled Casey's hand free of his collar. He wriggled along on his back next to Sarah. He brushed hair out of her face, and looped his good arm into her armpit. He spun around on his back, putting his feet out in front, away from the gunfire. He kicked at the door, and felt it give. Again, to a squeal of metal. At the third kick, the door came open with a crash, all of six inches. It hung down just enough on its inverted hinges that the bottom edge dug into the road. He kicked again and the door clanged all the way open with a puff of dirt and dust.

Chuck groaned in agony as his shoulder brushed the frame of the Humvee, but he grit his teeth and crawled backward, dragging Sarah limply behind him out into the dirt road. Shaw crouched behind the engine compartment, reloading his carbine.

"What the hell, Bartowski?" He peered through the front gunport. "You tranqed him?"

"I'm not leaving anybody to die." Chuck shot back.

Shaw shrugged, probably he rolled his eyes as well, but the balaclava made emoting more difficult for him than usual. "Then I guess we all die together! I can't raise anybody on the radio to call in CAS*, so we're on our own. Casey might have made the difference." He pointed and Chuck's head swiveled of its own accord, following the line of Shaw's arm. The rest of the convoy was a smoking ruin as well.

"How?" Chuck gulped. "What happened?"

"Wasn't the only IED. Just hope they're out of RPGs or this is gonna be over quick." He laid down prone and poked the barrel of his assault rifle under where the crumpled hood and the windshield made a tiny triangle and rippled off half a dozen rounds. "Toss me Sarah's ammo belt. I'm running low."

Chuck struggled to his knees, awkwardly hauling Sarah up to sit back against the side of the vehicle with only one arm. He stood up and knuckled his back.

The impact spun him around and he fell face-first in the dirt with a grunt. It felt like the hand of an angry god had punched him in the chest.

"Crap! Bartowski, you okay?"

Chuck groaned and rolled over onto his back. He pulled a mangled bullet from the vest with bloodstained fingers, hissed and dropped it. Thing was burning hot. Chuck looked down and brushed two other projectiles off his chest with his BDU shirtsleeve. "Yeah, I think so. Remind me to thank the guys at Dupont."

"I'll do that. Just don't stick your head up like that again," Shaw said. "Now, ammo please?"

He pulled himself back up to his knees and felt gingerly one handed across Sarah's chest for her ammo pouches, tore the velcro open and started tossing full magazines in a pile behind Shaw. Once that was finished, he checked her pulse again. Still strong. The crack of Shaw's rifle hurt Chuck's still sensitive ears.

"How many of them are there?" Chuck shouted.

"I don't know, plenty!" Shaw said. "They're trying to flank us, but there's no cover this side of that ridge they're on. Good discipline not breaking cover. We're right in the damn killbox anyway. Just a matter of time."

Chuck slumped next to Sarah, cradled her head on his bad shoulder and touched her cheek briefly, wrapped his arm around her in one last hug. There was a pair of binoculars in a pouch on his hip. He remembered, and crawled carefully back into the wrecked humvee. He grabbed a pair of M4s and tossed them back out the door behind him. The movement tugged him off balance, and his right arm still wasn't obeying him. He fell sideways onto his bad shoulder and bit off a scream of pain. Chuck inched his way across to the door and dragged himself up, put the binoculars to the gunport and peered out. Along the ridge a hundred yards away he could make out muzzle flashes. Bullets pinged off the Humvee and he flinched. "I make six!" Chuck shouted. The constant plinking of high velocity rounds bouncing harmlessly off the armor was less that reassuring.

"Like I said, plenty!" Shaw said with a laugh.

One of the figures stood and Chuck relayed it. "One o'clock, guy on the end, you have a shot?"

"Got him." Shaw said, and Chuck heard the report of the man's assault rifle. He saw the bullet impact through the binoculars and retched, but kept his last meal down somehow.

Plumes of dust erupted all around, the patter of bullets against the upended humvee raged. "Dammit!" Shaw said, backing up out of his shooting position, crawled around to peer in at Chuck. He shoved his M4 in at Chuck. "Here. Pass me the glasses, I'll spot. You're in a better shooting position and we can't waste time swapping."

Chuck swallowed bile and passed the binoculars out, hauled the M4 in by the still-warm barrel and poked it out the gunport. Shaw elbow crawled around to the back of the passenger compartment for a better view.

"Eleven O'clock Bartowski! RPG!"

Chuck saw the man poke his head up and his finger tightened around the trigger. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hesitated, and when he opened them, the man was gone. "Nice shot!" Shaw crowed. Chuck gulped a breath of precious air. "It wasn't me!" Chuck protested. "I didn't even pull the trigger!"

Casey's satellite phone erupted with _The Girl from Ipanema, _and Chuck stared at it in shock. He collapsed down onto the ceiling of the Humvee, dropped the M4 and snaked his hand into the front seat, found the phone and tugged it free.

"John Casey's phone, this is Chuck?"

"That's you in the only Humvee not on fire, yeah?"

"That's right."

"Alright, stay down Johnny Boy, we got these losers," There was a pause. "Who the hell is Chuck?"

"Uh, I work with John. I had to put him down."

"Oh hell, he's dead?"

"No, not dead. Asleep," Chuck said. "Uh. Is now really the best time to talk?"

"One second," The voice on the phone said. Chuck could just make out the other side of the conversation, though his mystery phone buddy didn't have the phone up to his mouth. "Weapons free, Ortiz." He heard the stuttering crack of gunfire over the phone, then again two seconds later. Four pops. Chuck heard another voice. "All Tangos down. We're clear."

"What the hell was that?" Shaw said, and poked his head in the door. "Chuck? Who's that on the phone?"

"Now we can talk." The voice said. "That'll be us coming over the ridge in a few, don't shoot."

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and crawled out of the Humvee. "It's okay. I think the cavalry just arrived. Don't shoot them. You are the cavalry, right?" He said into the phone.

"Not technically," The voice said. "Sure we've got horses, but we fight on foot. I suppose if you want to get into a semantic argument about it, we're dragoons."

"Great, perfect," Chuck grinned and shrugged a little, then winced when his shoulder moved. "The dragons are coming."

Shaw cocked his head to one side. "You sure you didn't hit your head on something?"

Chuck laughed. "I'll talk to you when you get here," He said and hung up the phone. "My head's fine. Your precious intersect is fine. How's Sarah?"

Shaw shuffled over and checked her pulse, put his head to her chest. "Pulse is good. Breath sounds normal. I don't like this head wound, but I'm no doctor. We'll have to wait until she's conscious again," He glanced over at Chuck, saw him clutching his shoulder. Now that the adrenaline was bleeding off, the pounding he'd taken in the explosion and crash was making itself known. His back and chest and his legs all ached, and his right shoulder was on fire.

"You're hurt. Anything broken?" Shaw asked, with something approaching actual concern.

Chuck groaned. "I don't know. It's been a long time since I broke my arm that one time when I was seven."

"Let me have a look," Shaw said. "Here, move your hand. Can you wiggle your fingers?"

Chuck gave it his best try, but he didn't think it worked. "Nothing? Right?"

"I don't think it's broken," Shaw said. "Do you feel that?"

"No. Feel what?" Chuck said.

Shaw grunted and grabbed Chuck's wrist. "Don't worry. You'll be fine, just don't bite your tongue."  
"What?" Chuck said, frowning. Shaw yanked Chuck's arm down and away from his body, twisting to put his hips into the movement. "Faaaa!" Chuck screamed. His arm went numb with pain for an instant before the flames rushed back, throbbing from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips. "Ow! Crap!" The pain faded a little, but it still ached something fierce.

Shaw patted his bad shoulder gently. "It's okay. It was just dislocated. You'll be fine."

"Great," Chuck got up and kicked open the front door, still cradling his newly re-located shoulder. Shaw helped him haul Casey out of the Humvee.

"You know he's probably going to be pissed he missed all the gunplay?" Shaw mused. "We'll need to downplay it if that's okay with you."

"No, sure that sounds like a good plan," Chuck said, and plucked the darts out of Casey's neck. In his experience, that usually helped people come around faster. He checked for any obvious broken bones, but it seemed they'd all come through with relatively minor wounds, though Sarah's head wound could be serious if they didn't get it treated. He reached back into the Humvee for the first aid kit and staggered over to Sarah.

"Chuck, she'll be fine."

"I just don't want that cut getting infected," Chuck said, fishing out a package of peroxide wipes and tucking some stray hair behind her ear. Shaw grunted and bent to tend to Casey. As soon as the disinfectant hit the two inch gash along her hairline, Sarah hissed, eyes coming open and a knife coming up for Chuck's throat. She stopped the movement at the last second.

"Where's Chuck?" She growled.

"Uh, don't kill me, please," Chuck said. "I'm just going to pull off the mask, okay Sarah?" The knife didn't so much as waver, which spoke well for Sarah's physical condition, but she tensed.

"How do you... Chuck?" The hopeful tinge to her voice made a grin bloom across his face as he tugged the black cotton free. She matched it through the red and yellow veil of her hair for a moment before squeezing the air out of him in a bear hug. "Thank god," She pulled away, let her hands drop down to her sides. "I don't feel so good."

Sarah turned away from him and emptied her stomach. "Oh crap. Are you okay?" Chuck said. Sarah wiped her mouth and put a hand to his chest to keep him back.

"I'll be fine. I hit my head?" She winced as Chuck nodded and pressed the wipe to her forehead again.

"Yeah. We don't get it patched up, you're going to be a redhead," Chuck said. "Blood's not exactly my favorite shade on you."

"What happened to your arm?" She said, frowning. "You're favoring your right side."

"Dislocated, but Shaw set it."

Sarah's eyebrow went up and she glanced around. "How'd he live through the crash? He was in the turret when we flipped."

"Well, I don't exactly feel like sunshine and puppies over here, but nothing's broken," Shaw said still tending to Casey. "Old army training coming back to me. I hit the floor as soon as I saw the flash. The blast shield on the turret took most of the shrapnel. I'm probably the least banged up of all of us."

"Most?" Chuck said. Shaw nodded and brandished his arm. There was a inch-long sliver of metal poking out of the meat of his forearm. And surprisingly little blood. "You want me to try and pull that out?"

Shaw shook his head. "No, the bleeding's stopped. I'll just take some penicillin and wrap it for now. We need to link up with Casey's Delta Force buddies and get on the move. I doubt this attack was random. First I'm going to go check for survivors."

_The Girl from Ipanema _started up again. Sarah blinked. "What is that?"

"Casey's phone," Chuck explained, hauled the phone out and flipped open the antenna. "Chuck here."

"You got people wounded?" The same voice as before inquired.

"Casey's still out. But he's not wounded that I can see," Chuck explained. "Our other casualty's conscious again. I don't know about the rest of the convoy." He put his hand right hand over the phone with an effort. "Can you walk?"

"No better time to find out," She grinned and levered herself up, using the frame of the Humvee for support. "Well, I can stand at least," Sarah said, and put her hand to her head, ran her fingers through her hair, and made a disgruntled noise. Her hand came away sticky with her own blood. "You weren't kidding about the hair."

Chuck put the phone back up to his ear. "Yeah, we'll need some help with Casey."

"Okay. We're cresting the ridge now. What's that?" The voice disappeared for a moment. "Hell. You're going to want to take a look at this."

The Delta commandos came down by twos, a pair swept across to help Shaw check for survivors. Two more of the Delta force operators came down from the ridge to them leading a handful of horses. The horses looked scrawny and ill-fed, smaller than Chuck expected. But they moved across the rocky ground with an ease he wouldn't have expected either.

After brief introductions, Ortiz and Marlowe lifted Casey easily between them. Marlowe was nearly as tall as Chuck and rail thin, with wispy brown hair nearly down to his shoulders and a scraggly beard. Delta got a lot more leeway on that kind of thing than standard army, and it looked like they'd been out in the wilds for months. Ortiz was shorter, probably two or three inches shorted than Sarah, about Morgan's size, but heavily muscled. He was olive skinned and had a messy faux-hawk, and was sporting a beard. Chuck did a double take, and could spot all the differences between his best friend and the Delta Force commando at second glance. But it was still a little surreal. While the two commandos scooped Casey up and tied him across the back of one of the horses like a sack of potatoes, Shaw returned.

"Anything?" Ortiz shot over his shoulder.

Shaw slumped his shoulders and went to work in the back of the Humvee without a word. It was obvious from his posture. One of the pair that had swept the convoy shook his head slowly, he was tall and blond. "One might have lived if he was in an OR ten minutes ago. You guys got this? We're going back up the hill."

No one tried to stop them. Chuck stood dumbly, he felt numb. The whole convoy was dead, and it was their fault. It somehow made it worse for him that he'd slept through linking up with the convoy. He didn't have any names or faces to stick in his mind and mourn. Chuck felt nauseated, but he couldn't bring anything up through the numb empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished he still had that mask on. Suddenly there was a metallic bang from the back of the Humvee. Ortiz whirled from the horse with Casey strapped across its back, gun coming up. He relaxed when he saw there was no threat.

"Dammit."Shaw said softly, cradling his knuckles where he'd punched the flipped vehicle.

"What's up?" Sarah said, her face frozen in its emotionless agent's mask, but Chuck could see the cracks. By now he knew where to look, the corners of her eyes turned down slightly at the carnage.

"The laser designator's trashed," He explained in a flat monotone. "Hey, you guys have a LLDR* in your supply loadout?"

"We did six months ago," Marlowe said. "But we've been having trouble getting our resupply on time and we don't have the batteries for the thing anymore. Last time they dropped us a bunch of laptop batteries or something instead."

"You cats and kitten looking to blow some shit up though, you came to the right outfit," Ortiz tried on a grin, but it was forced. "We just took down a stockpile of mortar rounds the other day. Captain could be persuaded to give a few dozen back if the need arises?"

Shaw smiled wanly, not in the right frame of mind to have the mood lightened. "We might just have to take you up on that."

Chuck retrieved his shotgun and rucksack and trudged up the ridge with Sarah, Shaw, Marlowe and Ortiz to where the rest of the Delta Force commandos were waiting with the enemy dead.

"You said you had something to show us, Captain?" Shaw said.

"Yeah. Name's Reynolds." He stuck out his hand, and Shaw took it.

"I'm Sorensen," He said, fixing eyes with Chuck. More lies to get people killed with. Chuck swallowed his rage. It wasn't Shaw's fault, but he wanted to blame someone. "That's Carmichael and Walker."

"I'll introduce you to the rest of the boys later. First things first. This ambush they laid on you was a little too neat. Precision roadside bombs take out five out of six Humvees? Six men total?Six bombs total, but one of them was a dud, my Lieutenant found it down there in the killbox. Semtex with a radio detonator, one of the leads was rusted out." He grunted. "Taliban would have hit you with twice that many men, maybe one rudimentary IED triggered with a wire and a 9volt, started in the with RPGs soonest and then skedaddled. This shit was too sophisticated for Taliban, but Judging from their kit here on the bodies though, that's exactly what they are. Very authentic, antique AKs and soviet era grenades. That RPG's got to be thirty years old if it's a day." He nudged the fallen weapon with the toe of his boot.

"So what's your point?" Shaw asked.

"Thing is, Sorensen?" Reynolds knelt over the closest dead man, pulled the man's rough woolen headdress off. "That's a corn-fed Iowa boy if I ever saw one. And we got a genuine Mr. T impersonater down there at the end. Mohawk and everything. Taliban ain't exactly an equal opportunity employer. No dog tags, no IDs. So they're private contractors of some kind. Mercenaries or PMCs, something. Going to a lot of trouble to put the blame on local trouble, but Mercs just the same."

"Captain!" One of the Deltas they hadn't been introduced to yet shouted. "I got something here." Chuck recognized him from the brief talk down by the blasted convoy. Tall, blond, incredibly fit, in his late twenties wearing local clothing over his body armor, he trotted over with a very familiar self-assured manner.

"What you got for me, Woodcombe?" Reynolds asked.

"Woodcombe?" Chuck breathed, staring incredulously. He shouldn't have been surprised. The resemblance was there for all to see, in his bone structure and even in his posture. Devon had mentioned a brother in the military in passing at his wedding to Ellie, explained why the youngest Woodcombe brother couldn't make it. For a Woodcombe in the Army, Delta Force was probably the logical place for him to wind up. This was just— Chuck didn't have a word. Sarah's mouth dropped open and her eyebrows climbed in shock. Shaw glanced at the two of them and hissed something low so that the Delta men couldn't hear, snapping them out of it.

"I found this." The younger Woodcombe said, holding out a black circular device with a bullet hole through it and a smear of red across what had once been a screen. Chuck winced. "Don't really know what to make of it. Maybe some kind of phone?"

Shaw let out a sigh. "It's the Ring," He said. "They know we're coming, and where we are now if they called it in with that. This complicates things, we need to move fast. We need to be gone before somebody misses the convoy."

"The who?" Reynolds asked. "We ain't gonna stick around and wait for backup?"

"Who they are is a long story," Shaw said. "I'll tell you what I can on the way. We don't know for sure the backup will be ours. The Ring has people everywhere. If they called in failure, they'll make another attempt. We need to be gone, Captain."

Reynolds nodded, and turned to look down at the remains of the convoy, eyes hard with resolve. "Looks like I got a bone to pick with 'em now too. Point the way, Sorensen."

Devon's little brother glanced at Chuck and Sarah around his commanding officer, blinked and squinted at them. His mouth fell open a little bit. Yeah. Complicated was the word he'd been looking for.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

Some military jargon this chapter might have been confusing, so here you go:

CAS: Close Air Support, usually an orbiting bomber equiped with GPS or laser guided munitions ready to hit hard targets for heavily engaged infantry units.

LLDR: Lightweight Laser Designator Rangefinder, what you would use to paint targets for precision guided Close Air Support.

* * *

A/N: More Mayhem next update. And more Staff Sergeant Awesome.

EDIT: Check my profile and vote in the Poll to determine SSGT Awesome's first name.

I love getting feedback, positive or negative. Feedback is feedback. Reviews are always appreciated. Isn't that little button down there tempting? Can't you hear it whispering to you, saying: Click me... Click me...


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Don't own Chuck, but I'm looking forward to the Season Finale anyway.

Chapter 10:

Casey grumbled as he opened his eyes. Where the hell... Oh, right. Ambush. His throat was dry as he tried to speak. "Kill you Bartowski!" He tried, but all that came out was a feeble "Ki... yo... towsk..." In a gravelly croak. He turned his head and peeled his eyelids open with a titanic effort of will. Blurry images slowly morphed into a tidy mountain campsite. He blinked grit out of his eyes and took in the situation. Bartowski was close to hand, he saw with a grin, and struck, arm lashing out and clamping down around the nerd's wrist. Casey tugged the moron down close to his mouth.

"Oh! Ha, good to see you're up," Chuck said. "Hey-whoa!" He grabbed at Casey's arm, and choked on whatever else he'd been going to say. Casey shifted his grip to Bartowski's throat, cut off words and air with the same movement.

"Don't you ever do that again!" Casey hissed. "Especially in a damn combat action! You could have gotten yourself killed. More importantly, you could have gotten _me _killed!" Casey pulled himself up to a sitting position by his grip on Chuck's throat. "Do we understand each other Bartowski?"

Chuck made a gurgling, choking noise in response. "Just nod," Casey said. Chuck moved his head a fraction of an inch, and Casey grunted. He held the grip of Chuck's throat for half a second more, for emphasis, then released him.

Chuck coughed and sputtered, hand going to his throat. "God, overreact much?"

Casey's eyes narrowed, and Chuck swallowed painfully and inched away briefly. He thought better of it and popped up to his feet, extending a hand down to Casey. "Here, come on. Shaw and Reynolds wanted me to bring you over when you woke up. They want your input on the assault plan."

"I can stand on my own two feet Bartowski!" Casey growled a little louder than he probably should have.

"Carmichael," Chuck hissed. "Shaw's Sorenson, just so you don't blow that too. Awesome's brother Kevin is right over there. He's Delta Force."

"I never would have guessed, Bar-Carmichael," Casey said, grabbed Chuck's hand and let Bartowski pull him up. "What with Reynolds being my old friend from Delta Force, and our meeting scheduled with him earlier today. Moron."

Chuck's hand sprang open and Casey fell on his butt. "That's for the Moron comment," Chuck said, and turned to walk over to Reynolds' tent.

* * *

Chuck led Casey to where Shaw and Reynolds were planning the assault and went back to his work with the LLDR and the pile of laptop batteries the Delta team had been airdropped by mistake. If he could rig something, they could have the B-52s come through with bunker busters and not have to go in with the Thermite charges and burn the place from the inside out.

He bent to his work, trying to ignore the fact that if he did get the Laser Designator working, he'd be indirectly killing everyone inside the drug processing plant. Not all of them knew they were working to distribute weapons of mass distruction, although, they did know they were processing poppies into heroin, so they couldn't be said to be completely guiltless. Still, Chuck had to concentrate to make himself shut out that nagging voice. It was necessary, even if it was distasteful.

"Any luck?" A booming voice said behind him. Chuck almost jumped out of his skin as Staff Sergeant Woodcombe squatted next to him. "You've been working on that thing for hours."

"Not really, Sergeant," Chuck said. "If I had a couple days and my toolkit, no problem. But all you guys have out here is a Phillips head screwdriver and electrician's tape. I need some eight gauge wire, a bunch of other things."

Sergeant Woodcombe thought about it for a moment. "You could cannibalize that tactical computer on your M4."

Chuck's eyes widened and he stared at his weapon, decked out in sensors and other boxy elements, frowned and turned sad eyes on Devon's younger brother. "But it's so cool," Chuck complained. "I don't want to break it."

Kevin Woodcombe arched an eyebrow. "Okay, I know I probably shouldn't say anything. But your friend, Colonel Casey kind of slipped up a couple times. Loudly. And I recognize you and the Blond from Devon's wedding pictures. Let's just get this out in the open."

Chuck glanced around hurriedly, but none of the other Delta Force operators were nearby. He sighed. "Okay. Yes," Chuck said. "My name isn't Carmichael."

"You're Ellie's brother," Kevin said. "She thinks you work at a Buymore, and yet here you are... in Afghanistan, wearing Air Force Major's insignia with a Marine Lieutenant Colonel who my Captain talks about like he's one part Solid Snake, two parts John Rambo. The math isn't difficult. CIA?"

Chuck slumped his shoulders. "Yeah. Just, keep it under your hat? Ellie doesn't know."

"And Devon does?" Kevin wanted to know.

"Yeah," Chuck said again. "He's not doing too great with it."

"I'll have to have a talk with him, next time I'm in Burbank."

"Next time?" Chuck said.

"Well, my tour's up in another couple months. Then the brass is shipping me off to Officer Candidate School. Probably make me get my PhD in there sometime too."

"You..." Chuck stopped, tried again. "I thought a college degree got you into the army as a Lieutenant?"

"Correspondence courses, I enlisted before I got my BS, and had to finish up online." Staff Sergeant Awesome replied. "I got my Bachelor's my second tour, and they bumped me to Sergeant, tried to make me go into OCS then. I got out of it, but then _someone _blabbed to the Captain about my thesis, and they're making me." When he hit 'someone,' his volume rose, and Ortiz grinned and raised his water bottle in mock salute. "Now I have to defend my thesis during my leave before OCS."

"Thats..." Chuck said, and couldn't help himself. "Awesome."

"What is?" A woman's voice said. Sarah had found the time to wash the blood out of her hair in a mountain stream and her hair was back to its gleaming blond luster. Chuck couldn't help the goofy grin that erupted at seeing her walking around, good as new, after the rollercoaster of emotions in the flipped humvee. It was only after the fact, that he realized how close he had come to losing her outright, and Chuck didn't want to waste another moment with her pretending. They hadn't had time to discuss it yet, and he wasn't looking forward to the inevitable fight, but he really didn't know how to explain their situation to Kevin when he asked in about ten seconds.

"So what's the deal with you two?" Kevin asked, softly so it wouldn't carry. Chuck grunted, two seconds, not ten.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "We're just partners."

Kevin grinned, "Really. So, next time I'm stateside, if I asked you out you'd say..."

Chuck glared and opened his mouth to say something he would regret later, but Sarah put a calming hand on his shoulder absently, "What tipped you?" She said, flat.

"Devon's wedding pictures," He explained, whispering. "I mean, you're doing a pretty good job pretending to be just partners or whatever, but the cues are there if you look close. Mainly every time you see each other your eyes light up and you get these goofy grins."

"Well, just keep your mouth shut," Sarah said and flipped a knife lazily through her fingers.

Chuck grabbed her wrist. "Don't threaten family, Baby," He said.

Sarah scowled briefly, then arched an eyebrow at Staff Sergeant Woodcombe. "He's _Ellie_'s brother in law. Technically you're not related, so..."

Chuck shrugged and looked at Kevin apologetically. "I tried."

"Relax, Chuck. Relax, Sarah," Kevin said with that trademark Woodcombe grin, and winked. "I especially won't tell Casey."

"Or Devon," Sarah put in.

Kevin arched an eyebrow a touch patronizingly. "I'm pretty sure big bro figured that one out a long time ago, but if you insist."

"Woodcombe!" Someone shouted. "Come on, recon is back."

* * *

"We found the coordinates you gave us, Sorenson. There's a small tribal village, not a drug processing plant," Marlowe said. "We got close enough that we could use the thermal scope once the sun went behind the mountains. And the place is deserted except for what I guess was the mayor or head-man or whatever's house, two story number with a couple pillboxes nearby. Heavy guard, look like more of the guys who hit the convoy. That's probably the place."

"Did they see you?" Shaw asked.

Marlowe arched an eyebrow and glanced at Reynolds. Reynolds grunted. "Speak freely Sergeant."

"Yessir," He turned back to Shaw. "This ain't exactly my first rodeo sir. They didn't see us."

"Good. What's the layout of the town?" Shaw said.

"Mostly the outlying buildings are a mess, not really streets, just a jumble of alleys and such. There's one main road cuts through the village, straight to the objective," Marlowe sketched out a quick map. I'd suggest someone here on the ridgeline above the town with the thermal scope running support, guiding us through the alleys. The main road is too open, even under cover of darkness. Lucky the town's deserted."

Chuck cleared his throat, "That's probably because the Ring killed the whole village."

"Thanks for that, Debbie Downer," Ortiz grumbled. "You know you should try to look on the sunny side of life for a change."

Chuck's eyebrows popped. Monty Python references, from a Delta Force commando. What was the world coming to? "If you break into the song, I think Casey's going to try to twist your neck shut."

Casey grunted happily, #1, affirmation. Ortiz grinned and made a show of locking his mouth shut.

"So, who's up for overwatch?" Reynolds said.

"Walker and Carmichael," Casey said immediately. "Somebody needs to stay back and Carmichael's our best bet to rig that LLDR as a backup plan. Walker can guide us in with thermals."

"Then they'll need somebody to watch their backs," Reynolds said. "Woodcombe, see that the Majors don't fall and skin a knee. Everybody else with us. Sorenson, you take Marlowe's A-team. John and I will take the other A-team back around the opposite side of town and come at them from two sides."

"Hang on," Chuck said. "A-team? Like The A-Team?"

Sarah leaned over. "Chuck, it's army slang for a delta force Alpha-Squad. Four man fire team."

"Like the show," Chuck said, excited. Sarah winced and put her hand over her eyes.

Reynolds turned to Casey. "I understand he's not really a Major, but where the hell did you find this guy, Casey?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Casey deadpanned.

* * *

"Gambit to Cyclops," Marlowe's voice came over the encrypted comms. "We're at a dead end."

Sarah scanned the town through the scope of her borrowed sniper rifle. "Backtrack and take... the next left, then a right, Gambit."

"My left or your left, Cyclops?"

"Yours, Gambit," Sarah said and rolled her eyes. "I've got a roving patrol heading toward your position, Nightcrawler. One man."

"Ugh," Casey grunted over the comms. "Why the hell did we let Moron pick the callsigns?"

"Three o'clock, Nightcrawler," Sarah repeated.

"I got him, I got him," Casey grumbled. "Tango down, ...Cyclops."

"Gambit, any luck on the route?"

Marlowe just clicked his radio set twice in affirmation.

Sarah keyed her microphone off and glanced up from the scope for a moment. Chuck was sitting indian style next to her with the laser designator opened up in his lap. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"No, but it doesn't work now anyway, so if I break it, are we really any worse off?" Chuck shrugged. Sarah rolled her eyes and bent back to the scope. Shaw and Marlowe's team were making their way up to the front of the building, stacked up in a line along the wall in the hunched over duck-walk that special forces adopted in order to keep their footsteps from jostling their hands and spoiling their aim. Casey and Reynolds' team was out of sight, heat signatures blocked by buildings.

Chuck put down the Laser designator and bent next to Sarah's ear. "I love you," He whispered.

She froze for a moment, turned from the scope and rolled her eyes in what he was coming to recognize as the 'inapropriate time for declarations of love' glare, but then she grinned and nudged his hip with her shoulder, keyed her microphone off. "Get back to work," She said, though she couldn't quite rein in her smile enough to make a stab at sternness.

"Cyclops, this is Nightcrawler, in position." Sarah flinched and keyed her microphone back on, glued her eyes back to the sniper scope, scanned quickly.

"Cyclops, Gambit is in position, we good to go?"

"Roger, good to go," Sarah whispered.

"Hang on, Walker, I'm getting something coming in from the north." Kevin hissed and keyed his own microphone. "Trucks incoming on the main drag. Looks like two-dozen foot mobiles coming right at you, Gambit. Mounted weapons of some kind above the cab as well."

"Affirmative, Cyclops. Nightcrawler, permission to engage?" Marlowe asked over the radio link.

"Engage. Engage," Reynolds voice came raspy over the link. "We'll take up position in the corner to give you fire support. Cyclops, what can you do from up there?"

There was a faint boom in the distance, a second following on right after, as Gambit took down the pillboxes with the 40mm grenade launches underslung on their silenced M4 carbines. Sarah centered the engine block of the front truck in her sights and the huge Barrett M82 .50 caliber sniper rifle jumped. Chuck slapped his hands to his ears against the roar. A little over a second later, better than a kilometer away, the first transport truck died in the middle of the street. The second truck fishtailed and spun out, trying to avoid crashing into the first, commandos in black tactical gear jumped clear before the trailing vehicle flipped onto its side. Not all of them got out. The truck Sarah had crippled spewed combat ready troops. A bare hundred yards away, Shaw and Marlowe's team opened fire, taking down a handful of the ring troops as they scrambled for cover.

"What's going on?" Chuck hissed, when the ringing in his ears subsided.

Sarah shushed him and adjusted her day/night scope. She wasn't happy with her first shot. Though it had crippled the truck, if she was going to hit any of the opposing force, she'd need to put steel _on_ target, not eight inches to the right of target. "Kevin, make sure Chuck stays down," She looked away from the scope long enough to glare at Chuck. "Don't think I didn't spot the bullet-scars on your vest."

Chuck winced. He _had _hoped she'd missed those.

Staff Sergeant Kevin Woodcombe poked his head up from Sarah's other side, and arched an eyebrow at Chuck, who sighed and huddled in a ball on the ground with his fingers in his ears.

* * *

"Damn," Casey growled. "Come on, we need to back up the others."

"Wait," Reynolds grabbed his sleeve. "They can take care of themselves, that CIA skirt any good with a rifle?"

"Better than most."

"Then they've got all the sniper support they'll ever need. Woodcombe's a damn artist with that M14 of his," Reynolds said. "You think whoever's in there might be a touch distracted right now? No better time. You still got the Thermite charges in your backpack?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Reynolds said. And shot Casey in the back with his sidearm. The Thermite didn't go up right away with the first shot, and Reynolds pumped another two rounds into Casey's backback before incandescent white sparks began streaming out. His men scrambled back and away expertly, obviously prepared for this outcome.

Casey shouted a curse and tore at the quick release straps on his pack full of fiery death, swung it away from him in an arc and dove around the corner of a mud brick building.

"Walker, go to backup comms," He hissed into his radio. Bullets tore chunks out of the bricks above his head as he elbow crawled along and found an open doorway.

"Find him, dammit!" He heard his old friend's voice shout. "He's worth extra alive, but I don't care."

Casey rolled and came up with his back to a wall. No time to sit around at the moment, he got to his feet and barreled out through the back door without even taking in the decor.

Bullets smashed open the frame inches from his head and he took a blind turn down a narrow alley. He heard shouting and gunfire from somewhere off to his left. Shaw and the other half of the Delta Force team still engaged with the trucks of Ring troops Staff Sergeant Awesome had identified. Casey tried to make his way toward the gunfire, to link back up with friendly forces, but he couldn't know who was Ring. He'd taken a gamble that Reynolds was clean, and got burned. Literally, he could feel the places on his back where the impossible heat had seared him briefly.

Casey took another turn and stopped, heart booming in his ears. He blinked hard and tried to push the noise into the background and listen. He'd dropped his carbine in the frenzy to get clear of the flaming backpack of doom, and Casey fumbled his Sig P228 out into his right hand, chambered a round and heard the scrape of boots on the loose rocky soil. Casey sank down to one knee, slipped the silencer from its pouch and screwed it onto the barrel of his sidearm.

The tip of a silencer came around the corner, followed by one of Reynolds' turncoats. Casey lined up his sights, and _The Girl From Ipanema_ started blaring from the Satellite phone on his hip. "Shit," Casey muttered and slapped his eyes back up, lunged forward, firing.

His bullets passed harmlessly through the air where his target's head had been. The target darted back around the corner, poked his gun around blindly in Casey's general direction. The Colonel closed fast enough, grabbed the barrel and yanked the gun, hauling the man back around the corner. Casey pressed the silencer into the man's throat and fired. The rogue Delta operator started to slump, and Casey stuffed his shoulder under the man's arm, went around the corner and spotted his back-up. But only the one other, they must have slip up, there was another two man element close by somewhere. The information flickered through his consciousness in the blink of an eye and Casey spun the body of the first man around as he fell to a knee again, poking his gun hand around the dead man's bulk and emptying the clip.

The second Delta Commando opened up, and the sound of bullets hitting body armor or whining off of mud bricks was louder than the ratcheting back and forth of their weapons' action. Casey peeked around his human shield and saw the other commando reloading. He growled and did the first thing that popped into his mind. He threw his gun, hit the man in the face and sent him reeling. Casey stuck one arm out, his fingers found the strap of his first victim's gunsling and followed it down to the man's M4. In an awkward move, he flipped the gun upside down so that he could wedge his pinky through the trigger guard and turn, lining up the second man.

Casey squeezed the trigger and hoped for the best. The second Delta trooper's nightvision goggles exploded when the bullet hit him in the forehead. Casey breathed a sigh of relief, as he and the first dead man slumped fully to the ground, still in their awkward embrace. His phone finished the second verse of the Frank Sinatra classic before he could summon the energy to fish it out. His adrenaline rush was wearing off and the burns on his back were really starting to hurt.

He flipped the antenna out, and put the phone to his ear. "Reynolds is Ring," Casey said, without any preamble.

"You don't say..." Came the voice of Kevin Woodcombe.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: This whole action sequence became much more complicated than I thought it would be before I started writing, thus the lateness of this chapter, and the cliffhanger. Even more Mayhem next chapter.

Good or bad, feedback is feedback. Reviews are appreciated, and help me hone my skills as a writer. Thanks in advance everybody.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.

Chapter 11:

"Reynolds is ring."

"You don't say..." Came the voice of Kevin Woodcombe.

Casey froze, as much as he could with two hundred pounds of dead rogue Delta Force commando on top of him. "Son of a bi—"

A woman's voice cut in, obviously pre-recorded. "Connection lost."

Connection lost? Not a hang-up, 'connection lost.' Some kind of jamming. But they could only do that if they knew were he was almost exactly. The phone didn't broadcast in all directions like a standard cell-phone, instead it beamed a signal direct to a satellite, sure GPS was involved somehow, Casey knew that much, but... He pull the back off the phone and pulled out a GPS bug. The sat-phone was useless, for now. Casey ground the GPS bug under his bootheel and clicked the cover back into place. They still knew where he was, but if he could get back up into the mountainside, get enough distance from the jamming field, he might be able to get through to Beckman for an evac bird.

Then he still had to find Walker and Bartowski. He shoved the delta operator off of him, scooped up the man's assault rifle and slung it over his head, angled down across his chest in approved fashion. After a moment's thought he grabbed the man's NVGs as well, strapped them on and cursed under his breath. The sounds of the gun-battle from from the far side of town had fallen silent. That meant either the four man Delta element, plus Shaw had taken down almost thirty men, surprised and with little cover, or the more likely scenario. All five KIA. His strategic situation was rapidly deteriorating. Backup was down to Walker and Moron, if little brother Woodcombe hadn't killed them already. He still had Reynolds and two more Rogue D-boys on his back somewhere, and the leftovers Gambit hadn't taken out before getting wiped would be filtering through the alleys to relieve their friends.

"Hell," He said, and started down the alley. No time like the present to see if he could Channel the spirit of Wyatt Earp. Casey had roughly zero idea which direction he was heading, thanks to his frenzied flight and the moonless night, but the NVGs helped him avoid running into a wall and knocking himself flat on his ass.

They also let him see the green laser lights coming from the ring troops weapons as they rushed the cross street. Reynolds voice boomed from behind him, amplified. Casey whirled and shouted a curse, ripped the vision enhancers from his face. The portable light Reynolds held was more accurately described as a light cannon, a couple hundred thousand candlepower, right into the light magnification on his borrowed NVGs put Casey down in a heap, his body short-circuiting from the sensory overload. He barely felt his borrowed M4 being ripped away, but he managed to come out of the daze long enough to see the rifle butt heading toward his face before everything went blessedly dark.

* * *

Casey's eyes fluttered for a moment before opening. His head ached and he felt around in his mouth with his tongue. It felt like maybe he'd lose a tooth in the bargain. One of his molars was moving freely when he tongued it. Perfect. He glanced around, cement block construction on the two walls he could see without moving his head. Casey rolled his head to one side and saw a pile of white plastic wrapped bricks. Heroin. A lot of it. He head throbbed and spun, but he blinked it off and rolled his head back the other way.

Daniel Shaw was cuffed to a steel folding chair, each pair of handcuffs crossed to the opposite support of the chair's uprights, keeping him from sliding them up and flipping the chair out from under him to use as a club. Casey had to assume he was similarly bound. He grunted. "Nice to see you too, John," Shaw said and rolled his eyes. "Walker? Carmichael?"

Casey shrugged as best he could in his restraints. "Got a call from Woodcombe, didn't seem surprised by this turn of events, then they jammed the signal. No idea if they made it or not. Anybody from your squad make it?"

"Hell if I know," Shaw said. "Grenade went off right at the feet of the man next to me. Blew out my eardrum. I was still shaking away the cobwebs and wiping blood out of my eyes when they got me. But I only saw two bodies, not counting the guy who got turned into salsa. Maybe one of them could have slipped off down an alley. No way to know."

"So we're pretty much screwed," Casey said.

Shaw laughed bitterly. "Pretty much, yeah."

Casey grunted, a #14, reluctant but willing. Time to break his thumbs again. It wasn't as easy to do a second time, the bones grew back a little stronger each time, and this would be his seventh or eighth attempt. Before he could get started he heard a door open behind him. The sound of boots on concrete echoed in the cinder block constructed room. Reynolds and another man, middle aged, with gray at his temples in black tactical gear walked around in front of them."Hello, Agent Shaw. I see rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated."

Casey grunted in disgust and bobbed his head at Shaw. "_He_ already used that one, which says a lot about your level of banter. For crying out loud, get some original material. If you have time I mean. I _am_ going to kill you soon." Casey blinked. "Why did I tell you that?"

"The sodium amytal must be working. How did you intend to do that, kill me? If you don't mind."

"Oh, the usual. Break my thumb, beat you to death with my chair. Use you as a human shield, shoot him with your gun," Casey grunted. "Dammit." Now he needed a new escape strategy.

"Yes, that does sound like something the Famous John Casey might do," He waved to Reynolds absently. "Duct tape his feet to the chair. Let's see you break your feet off and come at me. Better?"

"Yes, dammit." He tried to kick Reynolds, but the Captain caught his foot and wrenched his ankle. Casey winced.

"None of that now, John."

"Shut your mouth traitor."

"Maybe. But I'll be a rich traitor, sipping drinks with little umbrellas in them on a beach in a non-extradition country the rest of my life," Reynolds said, looping duct tape around Casey's feet and the chair legs to hold him in place. He used almost a full roll securing Casey, then pulled out another full roll for Shaw.

"Life expectancy for Ring agents isn't very good, in my experience," Shaw said.

The Ring agent in the black tactical gear laughed. "You'd be surprised. Nice work on faking your own death by the way, Shaw. I've had to fake my own death a couple of times, and let me tell you, sincerely. Bravo. One of our own agents there on the spot to take your pulse and everything. How'd you manage it? Out of professional courtesy if nothing else?"

Shaw winced as he tested his cuffs again. "...Go ...screw."

"Ah, resistance to Sodium Amytal. I'm impressed," The Ring agent tapped a finger on his lips in thought. "There's always torture I suppose."

* * *

Owens signaled to his men to lower their weapons. "It's alright. He's one of Reynolds' boys."

Kevin Woodcombe shoved Chuck ahead of him roughly, into the circle of light put out by the truck's headlights, and the spotlight from just above the door to the main manor house. Sarah glared daggers over her shoulder and the Staff Sergeant waved the silencer of his M14 at her vaguely. Chuck and Sarah both had their hands zip-tied behind their backs. He frog marched them right up to Owens.

"You're Woodcombe?" Owens said.

"Yeah," Kevin said. He kicked the back of Chuck's knees, taking him to the ground, then did the same to Sarah, leaving them sprawled out on their stomachs in the dirt. "Cash on delivery, right? I think express mail is extra."

Owens chuckled. "This is the last of them right?"

"Yeah, unless anybody got away?" Kevin said, glancing around. He slanted his M14 over his chest, barrel down, then dropped Chuck and Sarah's weapons unceremoniously behind them.

Owens sighed, and gestured to where a row of bodies were laid out behind the truck. Two wore local clothing over US army BDUs. One was covered in a sheet, though it was dark with blood. The others were wearing the same black tactical gear as Owens and his men. "We caught the CIA guy, but one of your ex-comrades slipped away."

"Where's everybody else?"

Owens frowned. "Oh, they went inside, back to their posts. The head guy's downstairs with Reynolds and the prisoners. Why?"

"Figure it out," Kevin said softly, and drew his sidearm left handed, shifting his stance to extend his arm out, all of three or four feet from Owens face. The first round took the Ring trooper just above the orbital bone and he fell like a puppet with its strings cut. Staff Sergeant Woodcombe's right hand found the pistol grip of his M14, hauled it up into his shoulder, resting the barrel on his outstretched left arm for balance. He panned his right hand to the left, popping off two silenced shots at the pair of Ring troopers standing by the row of bodies, then half turned, putting the narrowest cross section he could toward the remaining three agents as his left hand, still holding his sidearm panned across under the extended rifle. The tritium coated on the sights let him line up his shots and three more gunshots ripped through the night. The sixth man was hit before Owens' body even hit the ground.

Kevin dropped his sidearm and spun into a crouch, both hands guiding his M14 as he put an extra round each into the three on the right. They had been farther away, and he wanted to be sure. One man actually managed to clear his pistol from its holster before his skull was ventilated. Staff Sergeant Woodcombe breathed a sigh of relief and safed his weapon, slung it back across his chest and yanked his combat knife out.

Sarah had rolled over and stared at him in shock. He held up the knife. "Here. Let me get those zip-ties. We've got to move fast."

Chuck craned his neck to look back at him. "Wait, so you're not working with them?"

"Lookit. If you're on detached assignment in the wilds of Afghanistan and your Delta Force commander approaches you to join him in a criminal enterprise, you say 'Yes, absolutely sir, I'm sorry I didn't think of that myself. Huah!' Or you wind up in a ravine with a bullet in your cranium. I'm kind of partial to my cranium like it is."

"You couldn't have tipped us off?" Sarah growled, working her way up to her knees and offering her bound hands to be freed.

"I wanted to make sure you could sell it." Kevin said, flipped the knife around to give to Sarah, and jogged over to the row of bodies.

"We're CIA! They pay us to lie for a living!" Chuck shouted while Sarah freed his hands.

"Look, we don't have time to be arguing about this," Kevin said. He pulled the sheet back and retched, but came up with the last set of dogtags anyway. He slung the pack with Gambit's thermite charges onto his back. "Grab your weapons and lets go."

"So, you knew this would happen?" Chuck asked, once he was calm.

"No, not..." Kevin looked helplessly back at the line of bodies. "I didn't think he'd have this kind of support. I just thought he wanted to steal the heroin, sell it to a cartel, maybe I'd have a chance to tip off somebody back at the base beforehand. When I heard about all this Ring stuff, I thought Reynolds had changed his mind. We couldn't exactly speak freely around you guys. You think I would have sent Casey off with him, my team to their deaths if I knew exactly what was going on?"

"So you weren't planning to kill us for the Ring from the beginning?"

"Please," Kevin said. "Ellie would kill _me._"

"When did you meet Ellie?" Chuck asked.

"Later. We need to move," Kevin said. "If their base is underground, they might not have heard the gunfire, but we really shouldn't be having this talk by all the dead bodies. Move it." He suited his words, ran forward and kicked the door in. Sarah tossed Chuck his automatic shotgun and took the M4 with tactical computer for herself. They followed Kevin into the large two-story that dominated the center of town.

Chuck looked like he was going to say something about Sarah taking _his _gun, and she rolled her eyes. "Not now."

Chuck tried to close the door behind them, out of some misplaced need for tidiness, or something, but the hinges came loose from the frame and it clattered, echoing in the suddenly still night. It seemed louder than it was and Kevin glared at him. He shrugged sheepishly and followed. Kevin and Sarah exchanged brief hand signals of some kind and went room by room. Chuck stayed right on Sarah's behind, which was only a lot distracting.

Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes when she noticed. He blinked and tugged his gaze back somewhere useful. There were few furnishings, the furniture looked decades old, moth eaten and ill-cared for. It was deserted. Kevin came back down the stairs and shook his head. "You find the entrance yet?" He whispered.

Sarah shook her head and shrugged. Chuck glanced around more closely. He didn't flash, but he noticed two things. Well, remembered one and noticed one. The building didn't have a chimney, and there was a trail of muddy bootprints leading into the fireplace. "There," He said, barely more than a whisper. "Fireplace."

The trio began inspecting the rough stone of the fireplace, looking for a switch, something. It was Chuck who accidentally brushed the trigger with his foot. A heavy slab of concrete grated and receded into the floor, opening up a small room behind the fireplace. Kevin bent and duck-walked through, gun at the ready. Chuck and Sarah paused for a moment. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "For luck," She said, grinning. Sarah turned to follow Sergeant Woodcombe, but Chuck grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. His lips came crashing down on hers and Sarah slung her weapon out of the way so it wouldn't be crushed painfully into their chests as she wrapped her arms around him.

After a long moment, Kevin ducked down to peer out of the fireplace at them, concerned at first. "Ahem, guys? Secret base to blow up?" He dangled the backpack full of volatile thermite charges from one hand to demonstrate, waving it in a short arc in front of him. "Ring any bells? Hello? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?"

Sarah broke away first, face flushed. "Sorry. We may be going to our deaths. Usually we don't get to do PDA around the Colonel."

Kevin grunted, a fair impression of the Casey #15, 'you are stating the obvious yet again.' "I guess not."

She crawled in and Chuck stooped low to follow. He stumbled and Kevin and Sarah both grabbed ahold to steady him. They found themselves in a sterile white room, with a panel of recessed buttons along one wall. "Any ideas?" Sergeant Woodcombe asked.

Chuck glanced at the panel and his eyes fluttered as he flashed. Kevin arched an eyebrow. "What just happened there?" He muttered.

Sarah shot him a look. "Classified."

"I have Top Secret clearance..." Kevin started, but Sarah shook her head.

"Code word classified," Chuck explained. Kevin's eyes widened and he looked at Chuck in a new light. "Everybody ready?" Chuck asked, then, at a nod from Sarah and Kevin, hit one of the buttons. The concrete slab grated back into position, and the lights flickered. They felt a sudden lightness, as the elevator shot downward, and the trip took only a handful of seconds, though there was an oppressive feeling, like they were farther underground than might be estimated.

Before the door opened, Sarah whispered in Chuck's ear, "How much you get?"

"Basic layout. I can take us right to security," Chuck said. "Should be relatively simple."

"Yeah. Just the three of us against another dozen or so Ring troops from the trucks, Reynolds, and the fifteen or so on site security Marlowe and Benitez spotted on recon earlier," Kevin said. "Sounds like a walk in the park to me."

"Oh, and we have to rescue Casey and Shaw," Sarah chimed in. "That first guy mentioned they had prisoners."

"Thanks for that, Walker," Kevin sighed. The door dinged.

* * *

"Come on, Bartowski, pick it up!" Kevin said. Chuck huffed air into his lungs and Sarah shoved him around the corner. Bullets whipped through the air, scoring the concrete just behind her head.

"Are we there yet?" She hissed. Kevin shrugged.

Chuck turned and stuffed a headset over Sarah's ears. "Here, watch this," He poked a button on one of the boxy protuberances and flipped the heads-up-display down over Sarah's left eye. She blinked and shuddered.

"Am I looking at what I think I am?" She said, a smirk growing on her lips. Chuck flipped a screen out on the side of the M4, looked at it, and blushed, turned the gun away from his crotch. "Ah. Now I get it." Sarah poked the M4 with the tactical rig around the corner in the hallway, sighting in on the pair of Ring troopers filing out into the hallway. She put the blinking blue crosshairs over one man's face and pulled the trigger, then did the same to the second a moment later, "Tango down." She flicked the HUD screen back up and grinned at Chuck. "I can see why you were having a nerd-gasm over this thing now."

"Security should be a few doors down on the left," Chuck said.

"You got them both?" Kevin asked, "What does that make, seven since the door?"

"Only twenty left," Sarah confirmed.

Kevin kicked in the door to security and Chuck opened up with his shotgun, rippling off a quick four round burst that spun the man on the security monitors around. The third took him just above the eye and he tumbled out of his chair. The Sergeant took a step into the room and pointed his M14 down at the man point blank. "Nineteen," He said. Chuck made clucking sound in his throat and waved a pair of zip-ties in Kevin's face. Kevin rolled his eyes and bent to restrain the man.

Chuck slung his shotgun around on his back and took the man's place in the lone chair in the security room and his fingers flew over the keyboards.

"Find me the prisoners," Sarah said.

"No, the chemical weapons storage," Kevin said. Chuck grumbled and cocked his head for Sarah to come closer. He grabbed a USB cable out of one of his pouches, connected it to Sarah's tactical computer, then the port on the security mainframe.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, frowning. Chuck just grunted and pulled her closer, almost into his lap, and Sarah thought 'what the hell and sat down. Kevin rolled his eyes again. Chuck looped an arm under Sarah's to the little fold out keypad near the ejector port. The screen on the side of the gun flickered and Sarah tilted the weapon so Chuck would have a better view. He pulled up the base schematics, then started flicking through security cameras while he searched the mainframe on his second monitor, the one on Sarah's gun.

"Look, up in the sky!" Kevin breathed. "It's a bird, it's a plane. It's super-nerd."

Sarah grinned for a moment then bit her lip and ruffled her Chuck's hair. Kevin rolled his eyes at the two of them. They really needed to get laid.

"There they are!" Chuck said, pulling up the security feed where Casey and Shaw were being held. On the video monitor, a man in black tactical gear slugged Shaw in the face so hard, the steel chair he was bound to fell over with an inaudible crash.

"Can you close down communications out of here?" Kevin asked suddenly.

"What why?" Chuck retorted.

Sarah nodded. "Can you do it? If they're torturing Shaw and Casey for information, we might be able to stop them getting anything useful out, as long as we kill or capture everybody who knows it."

"Capture?" Kevin said, a little confused. Sarah glared and darted her eyes at Chuck briefly where he couldn't see. "Right, or capture," He tried to cover.

"Hang on," Chuck's fingers flew again. A dos prompt showed up and he typed out something. Then windows scrolled across the screen to fast for her to follow. "Alright, it's done. No communications out. Except, I put in a contingency. Figure if we aren't out in an hour we aren't getting out. Then it'll send the coordinates of this place to Beckman's email so she can blow it up for good."

"Nice work. Now where's the cyclosarin stockpile. Third level down, then... here, I'll put it up on the screen," As Chuck worked, the whole complex shook briefly. "What the hell was that?"

Kevin staggered and put his hand to the wall to steady himself. "Ortiz," He grinned. "He got back to camp and he's giving back the mortar rounds we seized a while back" The complex rumbled again. Kevin leaned in an put a finger to the monitor. "See that?"

"Yeah, looks like we've got the distraction we need," Sarah said. "They're going out to seek and destroy your friend though. That looked like almost twenty."

"I'll go back him up," Kevin said. "Catch them between two fires. This place got an armory?"

Chuck nodded, and pulled up the files. "Back the way we came. I think you knifed a guy coming out of there."  
"Got it," Kevin said. "Get some claymores in place and 10-to-1 odds aren't all that bad."

"We'll go after Casey and Shaw," Sarah said. "Then see if you need any more help.

"Wait. Somebody has to go blow up the nasty chemical weapons, remember," Chuck protested. "I guess that's me."

"No way!" Sarah shouted. "I'm not letting you run off by yourself and get killed!" Kevin put the pack full of thermite charges down gently and made himself scarce, slowly so as not to draw attention to himself.

"I can take care of myself," Chuck said. Sarah's brow furrowed and she grabbed the front of his BDU.

"Don't you dare die on me, Chuck Bartowski."

Chuck shook his head, then swiped a finger across his heart, then again. "Cross my heart baby."

Sarah's eyes narrowed and she sighed, there was no getting around it. "Don't get cute with the kung fu. And be sure to wear your gas mask. Where are Casey and Shaw?"

Chuck told her, and they headed for the elevator together. The door binged, started to open at the third floor. Chuck stuck the gas mask on his head, but didn't pull it down all the way. He turned and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I love you, Sarah walker," He said, and stepped back as the doors started to close.

She closed her eyes, the doors shut. And then she whispered, "I love you too." Coward, she berated herself silently as the elevator went still deeper into the ring Complex.

* * *

The Ring commander rubbed his bloody knuckles absently in a handkerchief. Shaw's head was remarkably solid and injury resistant. He hadn't really gotten anything out of the man. Casey had been another matter, the Sodium Amytal had done its work well there. He couldn't believe it. The intersect, working at a Buy More in Burbank, of all places. The Elders would have kittens when they found out.

He probably shouldn't have put off his report, but Shaw just had such a punchable face. The room shook faintly. "Mortars," Reynolds said in recognition. "One of my team must have gotten back to camp. I can get you coordinates."

"No. Send your last two Delta cronies."

"I don't like your choice of words."

"Relax, Reynolds," The Ring agent said. "You said yourself they're expendable. You'd just have to split your bonus with them anyway."

Reynolds nodded and stepped out to give the order. The Ring agent shrugged. If they were under attack he should make his report, just in case anything one in a million happened here in the base. He went over to a phone set into the wall. He started dialing, but the phone went dead. He frowned, hung up the phone by putting his thumb over the catch. Tried again. He couldn't get a dial tone, "Son of a bitch."

He darted outside. "Reynolds!" He shouted. "Where the hell is Woodcombe?"

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: What? You really thought a Woodcombe was going to be evil? No mayhem at all next chapter, and absolutely nothing blows up. I'm a liar. There may be s'mores as well. If my laptop doesn't die, expect next update in one week's time.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, or any of the associated characters. No funny one liner. On with the show.

Chapter 12:

Chuck realized as he approached the corner in the cinder block hallway leading to the Chemical weapons' storage, that he had a combat knife in a ruggedized plastic scabbard strapped to his thigh. He didn't remember packing a combat knife. It was one of those things that would never occur to him to have on his person. He suspected Sarah.

The idea came to him suddenly. It wasn't a flash. He remembered it from a movie, but he couldn't quite place what movie. The screen of his iPhone made a good enough reflector, so that when he quickly chewed a stick of bubble-gum and smushed the ABC gum onto the point of the knife, he could stick the phone to it and use the rig to peer around the corner in relative safely.

He grinned to himself at his ingenuity. If he did say so himself, Chuck Bartowski was some kind of spy. And he did, because he was the only one there, but under his breath. There were two guards in the black tactical gear he was coming to expect from ring agents, still at their posts one to either side of the door maybe fifteen meters down the hall. If he timed it right, he could pop out and tranq both of them before they knew what was happening. Then his gum-iPhone-combat knife contraption came apart. The gum wasn't strong enough to hold up a phone, which he should have realized. The plastic clattered against the cold concrete floor and Chuck cursed inwardly and snatched the thing up, bit his lip and crossed his fingers.

"You hear that?" Said a voice down the hall. Chuck sighed aloud in annoyance. "Now, I swear I heard something." Chuck winced. Stupid guards and their super-hearing. And now he had stringy bits of gum stuck to his fingers, in addition to hostile forces closing in. Chuck tried to smear the gum off of the combat knife and his phone onto his pantleg, but just got gum everywhere. This was not a helpful development. He shuddered into the flash. And came out with an angry grunt. Seriously intersect? Peanut butter gets gum off of things? Thanks for the tip! Wish there was some within a hundred miles. Stupid computer. Chuck hunched over awkwardly, careful not to cut his lips or tongue on the blade, and did the only thing that came to mind, he chewed the gum off his fingers and combat knife. He still had his fingers in his mouth when the guard he'd mostly forgotten about turned the corner.

"Muh," Chuck said around his hand.

"The hell?" Confusion trumped all of the Ring agent guard's training. Nowhere in all the weeks and months spent in boot camp, and then at the Farm or wherever, had there been a mention of what to do when confronted with a man sitting on the floor of your secret underground base sucking his thumb. That second of confusion and amusement was all the time he needed. Chuck spat the wad of gum at the guard looming over him, hit him right in the eye. "Ack! Damnit!" The guard stumbled back a step, one hand going to his face and the other pinwheeling madly for balance. Chuck grabbed the man's closest foot and yanked up, sending the man ass over elbows to the hard concrete floor. His head hit with a crack.

"Sonofa! You alright down there, Jimmy?" The second guard asked from down the hall, the clack of his boots on the concrete came closer as he ran to the aid of his fallen partner. Chuck shoulder rolled around the corner, came up to one knee and sighted in on the second guard, with his tranq pistol in both hands. He squeezed off a pair of tranq darts, the puff of air barely audible. Both darts took the startled agent in the throat and he sprawled forward onto his stomach with a dull thump and a whoosh of air being expelled from his lungs. He started to snore almost immediately.

Chuck smirked. "Chuck two, intersect zero. Peanut butter," He snorted in derision, and paused on his way to the door to put a dart in the first guard. Crack on the noggin or no, it didn't pay to be overconfident.

The door was secured by a passcode, simple keycard swipe. Chuck jogged back and searched the guards, figuring it was faster than trying to hack the security. The guard had the security code written in magic marker on his keycard. Chuck clucked his tongue at the breach of proper tradecraft, and let himself into the chemical weapons storage room.

He let out a low whistle, "I think I'm going to need a bigger boat." Okay, so it didn't make a lot of sense, so sue him. There was more of the stuff than he expected. Chuck grabbed his iPhone from where it was still half-stuck to the front of his combat web-belt and half tucked into one of the ammo pouches he'd converted into gadget storage, and started snapping pictures of everything he could.

Besides the large canisters labeled Cyclosarin, there were an equal number of canisters labeled, VX. He remembered enough from that Nicholas Cage movie to know those were _really_ bad news.

Once he'd documented as much as he could, Chuck shrugged out of the backpack and started placing the thermite charges and the bricks of C4. He flashed, images of explosives and detonators and timers and wiring flickering through his head, leaving behind the knowledge of a fully qualified demolitions expert, and the beginnings of a roaring headache. Stringing the wires would take longer than he would have wished for, but there was more stuff to blow up than he'd expected. Chuck squared his shoulders and got to work.

* * *

Sarah paused in her crawl, put her ear to the floor and listened. Muffled voices. She risked peeling up one of the ceiling tiles beneath her and peeked out with one eye. She'd been pleasantly surprised to find a false ceiling with a crawlspace for wiring and such. It was like all secret bases were built along a set of rigid guidelines or something. Some kind of secret bad-guy union of contractors or something, making sure things were up to code, complete with ambush ready secret compartments in the ceiling.

Sarah grinned a little at the thought, flipped the monitor out the side of her M4 and poked the barrel through the gap in the tiles. The camera attached to the side showed only the cinderblock wall for a moment before she found the zoom controls and focused in on her quarry.

Four men, three in US army BDUs and a fourth in black tactical garb. Reynolds and the last two missing Delta force operators, plus whoever was in charge of the Ring's operation. She didn't have a good shot at Reynolds or the graying Ring Agent, so she lined up the blinking blue crosshairs on the other rogue D-boys and opened up on the three round burst setting. Two squeezes of the trigger equated to six hot brass cartridge casings bouncing around with her up in the crawlspace and two dead men. One of the still smoking cartridges bounced off a support beam and right back at her, shooting down the back of her BDU and searing her neck. Sarah hissed and flinched at the burn. It was enough to send the third burst of brass core steel jacketed bullets wide, stitching a line of dust out of the cinder blocks to the left of Reynolds. Her sight picture through the camera was less than ideal in the first place, but she saw Reynolds beginning to spin toward her, and rolled sideways.

It saved her life, but the crawlspace wasn't designed for rolling, just for crawling. There was only a narrow space maybe a foot across, that was bolted heavily into the true concrete ceiling above. The rest was flimsy insulating foam panels. Sarah shot right through with a crash and plume of dust even as Reynolds' first few aimed rounds from his sidearm rent the air to her left.

Sarah landed badly. Better than she had a right to, but still badly. She managed to get both of her legs under her before she hit the concrete, but only one was angled properly to take the impact. Her ankle rolled over with a pop before she could fall over like her paradrop training had taught her. She still went through with the move, and it saved her life again. She rolled, bullets whizzed by her head, and Sarah came up to one knee in a firing stance, rippling off another burst, but Reynolds had thought fast, and was using one of his dead subordinates' corpses as a human shield. There was a bloom of blood from the impact of her bullets, but the rounds didn't penetrate both the front and back armor of the unfortunate rogue soldier.

Reynolds shoved the man toward her, and Sarah dropped her M4 to avoid getting it tangled up with the dead man. Gray hair had been slow getting his sidearm out, but now he was bringing his 9mm to bear at point blank range. Sarah lunged forward, right arm coming across left to right and chopping at the inside of the Ring operative's wrist. The gun discharged and Sarah felt like she'd been hit by a sledgehammer, but her armor held. A split second later, the Ring agent's gun went clattering to the floor.

Sarah winced and grabbed the disarmed man, yanked him between her and Reynolds as she spun on her good leg, snapping a kick around behind the Ring agent to smack the gun out of Reynolds hand as well.

She sent the Ring operative sprawling behind her with a twitch of her shoulders, and pulled her Sig on Reynolds. Before she could even bring the weapon to bear, the rogue Delta force Captain slapped her pistol out of her hand with the same move she'd used on gray-hair. Her wrist stung and Sarah took a step back, yanking her combat knife free.

Reynolds followed suit and she heard the rasp of gray hair pulling a knife as well behind her. The tableau held for a moment, scant heartbeats long. "Heh. This ought to be interesting," Reynolds grunted.

Sarah snatched one of her throwing knives from the scabbard at the small of her back and twitched her wrist out behind her. There was a thunk of metal and flesh and the Ring agent in command snarled a curse. She heard the clatter of his knife hitting the floor, but didn't have the time to risk a glance over her shoulder. Reynolds came at her with a quick swipe. Sarah threw herself backward, but her ankle screamed at her and she fell awkwardly. Reynolds' blade whipped by, bare inches from her throat. She was using up all the luck she had today, but Reynolds was overbalanced from the near miss, and she had only a brief window. From her crouch, she couldn't reach his vitals, and she didn't trust her ankle to support her.

Instead, she reversed her grip and stabbed down, pinning Reynolds' boot to the concrete. Reynolds let out an angry bellow, and seized her by the throat, lifting her bodily. Sarah wasn't ready for the move, and lost her knife. She tossed her head, gasping for air against the man's grip and just managed to get her arm up to in time to take the stab through the meat of her right forearm instead of the throat. Sarah snarled like a wounded lion and tensed against the flash of agony.

Reynolds snorted, "CIA ain't shit." Sarah's eyes went unfocused and her vision narrowed. She heard the snick of a round being chambered behind her and her eyes popped back open. Sarah clapped her free hand onto the side of Reynolds face and she jammed her thumb in his eye. Reynolds spat a curse, and his grip on her throat loosened. Sarah struck in that moment, with the last of her breath burning in her lungs. It was all one flowing movement. Her left arm came across over Reynolds arm still holding the knife impaling her arm, trapping it so she could duck under and spin. The movement yanked at her wound, but Sarah ignored it just as she ignored the stab of pain from her ankle as she spun on it.

Her spin wrenched Reynolds arm around behind his back and looped her wounded right arm around his neck, thumb crushing into his carotid and fingers cupping his chin. Her left arm broke Reynolds' thumb and tore the combat knife out of her own arm. She ended up back to back with Reynolds, when the report of the Ring agent's gun shook the hallway. Reynolds grunted with the impact and Sarah shifted her hand.

"Oh, fu-" Reynolds began in realization just before she wrenched her arm back around, snapping his neck. The momentum of her spin and the neck breaker brought Sarah around behind him. Reynolds took another three rounds from the gray-haired Ring agent's sidearm. Sarah screened herself with the Delta force captain's slumping frame and she threw left handed. The blade spun end over end briefly before embedding itself up to the little half-hilt in the gray haired ring agent's eye. He fell over backward and dropped his sidearm to clatter on the concrete. "OW! You assholes!" Sarah shouted at the dead bodies littering the hall, clutched her wounded arm to her chest. She kicked Reynolds with her bad leg, winced and hobbled for the door.

* * *

"You okay?" Casey said, still a little loopy from the truth serum, but starting to come out of it. Shaw growled something Casey was just as glad he couldn't understand. Though it did sound creative. "Hey! Snap out of it. Do you still have that stupid little knife that pops out the toe of your boot?"

Shaw shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from the beating he'd endured. "What?"

"Your bootknife?" Casey repeated. "Did they take it?"

"No, no. I can't stomp my foot right to get it out though."

Casey grunted. "Okay, see if you can spin around and I'll try and..."

"Oh, right I got it," Shaw said. His toes managed to get purchase and he slowly nudged himself around so that Casey would have the angle he needed. Casey leaned forward awkwardly undil he could counter balance the chair he was cuffed and duct-taped to. He waddled in a little half circle and slammed the back chairleg down on Shaw's boot heel. The spring-loaded blade popped out with a snap, but Casey overbalanced and fell on top of shaw, and he rolled off, but they still wound up nose to nose.

"That didn't exactly work like I meant it to," Casey said.

The door burst open and Sarah stopped in the doorway. Her eyebrows shot up. Casey levered himself up awkwardly on one elbow. Glanced down at Shaw, the wheels turning. Shaw got there first. "This isn't what it looks like."

Sarah grinned despite her wounds, "I _hope _not," The grin grew wicked. "I mean, sure they're repealing 'Don't ask don't tell' but you two should wait at least until they make it official... to uh... make it official."

Casey growled something anatomically impossible under his breath. "Shut up, Walker and get us loose."

"Chuck's going to have a field day with this," Sarah said, and flicked a throwing knife out into her hand.

Casey's eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna bet?" She grinned wider and limped over to cut their legs free.

* * *

Chuck glanced around at his work and grinned. If he did say so himself, that was some fine demolitions prep. And he did say so himself because he was still the only one there. He sighed. If he didn't do something he was going to get himself in trouble, talking to himself all the time. He leaned in to program the timer, making sure to arm the anti-tamper circuitry before typing in a liberal twenty minutes. Plenty of time to link back up with Sarah and get everybody out.

He hit the button to start the countdown. The timer read 00:20:00. Then it counted down to 62:10:00. "Huh?" Chuck said, scratching his head. 82:10:00. Chuck's eyes widened in shock and he took a step to the side so he could look at the timer upside down. 00:01:57. 1:56. "Oh no. Oh crap." There was not time to disarm the charges. He'd made sure his anti-tamper countermeasures would slow down anyone trying to disarm the bombs. That included him. Chuck could probably have disarmed the detonation in five minutes or so. It would take him maybe half that to dismantle the timer itself, but he didn't have half of five minutes either.

Chuck grabbed the tactical radio he was still wearing as he ran.

"Oh crap, what was my callsign?" Chuck said to himself. "Screw it. Sarah this is Chuck! Get out of there."

* * *

Sarah frowned and keyed her radio. "Chuck these comms are compromised."

"Doesn't matter. In less than two minutes this whole place is going to go up," Chuck's voice crackled through the radio earpiece. "No time to explain. I'll meet you at the elevator, move it!"

"Something's wrong. We need to leave now." Casey helped Shaw to his feet and Sarah limped down the hall, scooping up weapons as she went. She tossed a pistol to Casey and another to Shaw. But the base was mostly deserted after all the Ring troops had run off after the surviving member of the non-rogue elements of Reynolds' Delta force team. Chuck was waiting in the elevator for them.

"Hurry up!" He shouted, waving them in. As Shaw and Casey stumbled in, he punched the button for the ground floor. The doors shut.

"Alright Bartowski, what did you do this time."

"It's not my fault! They put one of the images in upside down!" He babbled.

"Hang on, Chuck,"Shaw said through his torn lips. "They who, what are you talking about?"

"The intersect 2.0," Chuck said. "They put one of the images on the demolitions refresher in upside down. I set the timer for twenty minutes, I swear."

"But it was upside down..." Sarah breathed. "Chuck how much time do we have?"

He glanced at his watch. "Uh... six... five..."

Casey grunted and jabbed repeatedly at the button he remembered Chuck hitting when he got in. Chuck got to three before the doors binged and the concrete slab in the fireplace started grating upward, much too slow for comfort. The ground shook and all four tumbled out into what had been the living room of the main house. Smoke burst out of the fireplace and a second later bricks started shivering apart. Flames belched out and caught at the remnants of the wallpaper. Chuck stumbled to his feet and grabbed Sarah around the waist, hauled her up and headed for the door.

Casey grunted from the floor, "What am I chopped liver?" Then he thought about it, and couldn't really blame him. He'd have saved Walker over Bartowski anyday if he wasn't under orders. Chuck and Sarah stopped in the doorway. "What is it now, morons?"

Kevin Woodcombe and Ortiz were sitting on the hood of the Ring's transport truck, smoking cigars. "What took you guys so long?"

"What happened to the twenty men they sent after you?"

"I was backup quarterback on my highschool football team. Too short to start, but I had a better arm," Ortiz said, like that would enlighten everyone.

Kevin grinned and took up the explanation, "You put a decent spiral on a mortar round, it'll really ruin somebody's whole day, especially when they're clumped together on a mountain trail. I didn't even have to set up any claymore mines to bat cleanup for him. What about Reynolds and the rest?"

Casey grunted and pointed at Sarah. "Don't ask me, I was cuffed to a chair the whole time. Sarah smirked and dragged a finger across her throat.

Kevin nodded thoughtfully, and Ortiz' eyebrows shot up, "That's hot." Ortiz murmured.

Sarah rolled her eyes. It was the Shaw situation all over again.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: So, this mission is all over but the shouting. Literally, Beckman has a couple of choice things to say to the team when they get back about checking in on time. But that's next time. Tune in next week for Jeffster in concert. Okay probably not...


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Chuck is owned by someone, this is not up for debate. That someone is not me.

A/N: New version of this chapter up, after my Beta got his hands on it. Special shout out to the grammar police: _daywalkr82!_

Chapter 13:

Kevin was the only one out of the six survivors, who made it through without so much as a scratch. Shaw had a concussion and a fractured jaw and cheekbone. Casey needed half a dozen stitches for the scalp laceration he'd suffered in being subdued. Chuck just had some bruising from the first ambush. Ortiz had taken a grazing shot to the outer flesh of his right thigh, superficial at worst.

Sarah was the worst off of any of them.

"You okay? How's the arm?" Chuck asked, as he helped her up into the back of the ring's only operational truck.

Sarah grimaced and shrugged, screening her eyes from Shaw and Casey with her shoulder so she could roll her eyes in their direction, warning him to school his tone, and remove the concerned boyfriend overtones. It didn't look like Casey and Shaw were in any condition to notice, but Chuck nodded minutely, in resignation. He didn't like it, but she was right, running away from Afghanistan together would probably be unfeasible.

Sergeant Woodcombe tossed a first aid kit back through the window in the cab of the truck as they rumbled down the back-roads toward Kabul.

The truck was an old, decrepit pile of junk, at least thirty years old, twin to the one Sarah had crippled. It was nondescript enough that they failed to produce any interest when they drove straight through a village. Chuck saw dozens of men with AK's through the tiny slit in the siding near him, but no one seemed interested in them when they weren't in Humvees. He grunted and rolled his eyes. With Kevin and Ortiz in the front, their local garb on over their BDUs, the truck was about as remarkable as a snowball in January, it seemed.

Sarah winced when Chuck wrapped bandages tight around her wounded arm, and Casey made some offhand off color comment that made Chuck blush. Sarah merely rolled her eyes and nudged away from Chuck surreptitiously.

They rumbled to a halt eventually, in front of the gates of the base they'd left the day before —though Chuck had been asleep for it— just before dawn. A squad of army troops from the 101st Airborne quickly surrounded the truck and it was only after an awkward few minutes that Sarah, Casey, Shaw and Ortiz were all swept off to the infirmary.

* * *

Kevin and Chuck were taken to the office of the commanding general, an older man with gray hair the color of stone and a substantial beer gut, but otherwise in excellent physical shape for a man his age. There was a gleam in his eyes that spoke of steel.

Kevin saluted, his movements measured and fluid with repetition, but without the crispness the army normally demanded. Delta Force got more leeway than Chuck had realized. "So," General Snutticker said slowly. "What the hell, Staff Sergeant? Or maybe you want to explain this one, 'Major'?"

Chuck swallowed and shot his eyes at Kevin. "Well, ah... Sir," Chuck managed. "I'm not exactly sure how much I can tell you. Uh... classified, you know?"

"I have Clearance, 'Major,'" The General actually made the air quotes that time, if the imaginary ones hadn't sank in the first time.

"Right, huh," Chuck said, scrambling for time. He obviously couldn't mention anything about the Ring or the Intersect, even if as was most likely, the General commanding all US forces in Afghanistan was honest, forthright and completely aboveboard. He scratched his head, cliched as that was, as his mind whirred and clanked and clunked to a grinding hissing halt. If he told the General why they were there, Beckman was going to kill him, or at least do that scary glare she had. If he didn't tell Snutticker, the man would do something, that much was obvious, and judging from the man's arms-crossed, brows-furrowed, shoulders-hunched posture, it would be legendary.

"Permission to speak freely General?" Kevin Woodcombe said into the super awkward silence.

The General uncrossed his arms, and motioned for him to go on. "Granted, say what you want to say, Staff Sergeant."

Kevin drew himself up taller somehow, even though he was already at attention. "General, roughly three weeks ago, Captain Reynolds approached me with a plan to steal a large quantity of heroin from a drug processing plant up in the mountains. In fear for my life, I accepted the offer, hoping to tip off someone here at the base. However, we lost radio contact due to the mountainous terrain, and Captain Reynolds never gave me an opportunity to 'borrow' the SatPhone."

In quick, terse language, Kevin laid out the Delta Team's involvement. The General seemed impressed in spite of himself.

"And that's the whole story?" he said.

Chuck grunted. "It's as much as I feel comfortable sharing without talking to Colonel Casey or General Beckman; I hope that's acceptable to you?"

"I suppose it'll do until Beckman gets here," General Snutticker mused.

Chuck frowned. "What? General Beckman's coming here?"

Snutticker nodded. "Her plane's supposed to land in," He checked his watch. "Well, about a minute ago. Dismissed, the both of you. I'll want that report in writing, Staff Sergeant. You made the best of an impossible situation and overcame what should have been overwhelming odds. There'll be at least a Bronze Star in this for you, maybe Silver if Beckman backs your story and we keep the citation Classified."

"Thank you, Sir," This time, Kevin's salute was crisp and polished and perfect in every regard.

"I said, dismissed."

* * *

Chuck shuffled into the hallway and slumped against the wall. "You okay, Chuck?" Kevin asked, "You look like somebody kicked your puppy."

"I just wish I knew why Beckman was coming here in person," Chuck said. "It's weird. She usually doesn't come out in the field, especially into a combat zone. Somebody must be in trouble, and I think it's me."

Kevin arched an eyebrow. "You didn't do anything wrong, Chuck. Not as far as I can see. Relax, and let's go check on your girl."

Chuck pushed off of the wall, winced and clutched his ribs. "Ugh."

"You okay?" Kevin swooped in to let Chuck lean on him.

"I'm fine," He said, stubbornly.

Kevin grinned, shook his head. "No you're not, I should have figured. What happened, you take one in the vest when I wasn't looking?"

"Three," Chuck confessed. Staff Sergeant Woodcombe rolled his eyes.

"Probably a good thing we're heading for the infirmary anyway then," Kevin sighed. "I don't think you've got any cracked ribs, but we'd better let the docs take a look at you anyway."

"Ugh," Chuck said again. Doctors invariably meant needles. Chuck suppressed a shiver.

The doctor was an army captain, a huge black bear of a man, but with kind eyes mitigating an otherwise intimidating build. He glanced at Chuck and Kevin and snorted. "You keep injuring officers at this rate, Woodcombe, and they'll never let you into OCS."

Kevin brightened slightly at that. "Yeah, great idea, Captain Winters," He chuckled, "But if I do it on purpose, I'll probably get court-martial-ed eventually."

Winters smirked. "Eventually," He turned to Chuck. "I hope you'll be a better patient than this bunch I've got in here now?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'll do my best but no promises. I'm fine anyway."

"How about I'll be the judge of that?" Winters said with a grin. He motioned Chuck to an exam bed covered in butcher paper and Chuck sighed. The infirmary was spotless, and looked to have all the proper hospital-ey machinery he recognized from visiting Ellie and Devon at work, but as he glanced around he realized he couldn't see Sarah, or Shaw or Casey for that matter. In addition to spotless, the infirmary seemed to be empty of anyone except Doc Winters and a couple of nurses and orderlies. He quirked an eyebrow at Winters.

"Other patients?"

Winters frowned for a moment. "Oh, your friends? The MPs came and took them a few minutes ago."

Chuck's eyes bulged, "MPs? What the hell's going on?"

"Just sit, calm down," Winters said, "I'm sure everything will work out fine. Why don't you lie down?"

Chuck did as he was told, and the doctor moved over to a cabinet next to the bed. As the man turned back, Chuck's eyes locked onto a small scar on the back of Winters' hand. The flash shivered through him in under a second. Son of a bitch. Retired CIA. Chuck put a hand to his head, blinking away the beginnings of a mild after-flash headache. He tensed to spring off the exam table, but Winters turned and clamped a hand on Chuck's wrist.

"Relax," He said. His free hand pointed at Kevin. "You can go. I'll tell you when he's ready to go."

Chuck almost blurted out what he'd learned from the from the flash, but something stopped him. It was odd; retired CIA. Kevin ducked out and Chuck racked his brain; retired, not KIA, MIA or the usual suspects for Ring agent, so what was Winters doing out here in Afghanistan posing as an army medic? Chuck blinked again, details emerging out of the liquid soup of information pumping through his brain. He was still using his real name, which meant...

"You retired from the CIA to join the Army?" Chuck blurted before he could stop himself, "That doesn't make a lot of sense."

Winters grunted in surprise. "How the hell... Never mind; yeah, I didn't like lying to my wife about my job, so I went back and finished med-school and here I am, still doing dirty work for the Deputy Director Ops."

Chuck swallowed, "How dirty?"

Winters let out a laugh, genuine and rich, "No, nothing like that. I'm just covert protection until Beckman gets here to yell at you lunatics. The M.P.s took the others into protective custody."

While he talked, Winters helped Chuck raise his arms over his head and pulled off the dirty Faux Paws t-shirt. Winters glanced at it briefly, in wonder. "That's not regulation." Chuck shrugged and Winters rolled his eyes. "Alright, let me see where you got hit. Ouch. Those are going to sting for a while."

Winters snapped his gloves as he tugged them on, before probing gently at the greenish yellow and purple blotches the Ring agents had left on Chuck's chest from the initial ambush.

"Okay," Winters said, fingers pushing harder. "Doesn't look like anything's broken or cracked or anything. You should be okay."  
"You called us lunatics before," Chuck said, "What did you mean?"

Winters looked truly taken aback for a moment. "Uh, what do I mean? You went on a rogue mission to destroy a heavily guarded enemy base that officially didn't exist, blew the place to hell and then came right back to base like nothing happened."

Chuck's eyebrows shot up. "Rogue mission? What rogue mission?"

The door burst open, and a handful of men in black tactical gear flooded in, sweeping the infirmary for potential threats. After a good twenty seconds, one of the men finally spoke into a radio microphone clipped to his collar, "Clear."

The doors opened again, to admit Brigadier General Diane Beckman. She didn't look particularly pleased to see Charles Bartowski at the moment. "What was that you said? 'What rogue mission'?" She was obviously about to explode with rage, but there was a thoughtfulness to her usual combination of scowl and frown. The rage disappeared in realization. "He didn't tell you."

Chuck blinked. "Who didn't tell me what?"

Beckman rolled her eyes. "Come along, Chuck. And put a shirt on."

Winters held Chuck's shirt out to him, and Chuck followed Beckman out of the infirmary, flanked on all sides by the General's personal protection team. They went down a couple of hallways, then down a flight of stairs. Finally, Beckman stopped at a door guarded by a pair of M.P.s. She cocked her head at one of the black-clad commandos. "Nobody comes through that door, either way, unless I'm with them."

"Understood, Ma'am."

Beckman nodded Chuck through ahead of her. The sound of the door clanging shut behind them felt like the gates of a prison house closing in around him. Chuck hadn't had much experience with prison, but it felt ominous as hell.

Casey, Shaw and Sarah were seated at a dingy conference table in the center of the room. It was built from cement blocks and there was a musty, moldy scent to the air. The walls were unadorned, lacking the usual touches, a dry-erase board, or a plasma screen, something to break up the stark monotony of white painted cement. There was no carpet, either; just more concrete. Maybe not a prison, a tomb. A little shiver went down Chuck's spine, when Beckman spoke again. "Sit down, Bartowski."

Chuck took the closest chair, which just happened to be next to Sarah. Casey and Shaw were across the table. Beckman stood at the head of the table, like a judge or some kind of executioner. If she wasn't so tiny, she'd have been looming over the whole room.

"So," she said menacingly, "explain yourself." Sarah opened her mouth, but Chuck shifted his foot and stepped gently on her toes. She turned to frown at him. "Agent Shaw," Beckman continued. "Now is the time. I gave you explicit instructions that the facility be placed under satellite surveillance until we knew what we were dealing with; instead, you cut communications, staged a bomb threat in order to route your team around the men I sent to retrieve you and launched an assault against unknown opposition, nearly getting the Intersect killed in the process. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"With all due respect, General?" Shaw said, his voice never wavering in the slightest. "I did what had to be done. The Ring was days away from moving God knows how many tons of chemical agents into the United States. Your plan was flawed, and I was not going to risk millions of lives because you were antsy about stepping on Snutticker's toes. I'm not sorry for anything."

"Wait a second!" Chuck said angrily. "Staged a bomb threat? On the plane, that was you? What the hell?"

Casey grunted, #12, grudging respect. "It was to keep us from calling in. If 'the Ring' knew we were coming and exactly what plane we were on, the logical assumption was that our communications were compromised somehow. Well played, Shaw," He grunted again, #3 confused. "But what about that first ambush, that was Ring all the way. How'd they know to be there if they didn't set up the bomb on the plane?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Reynolds called in our rendezvous to his contacts at the drug processing facility, how else could he come rescue us so perfectly? It was ust a ploy to get us to trust him so they could find out what we knew without resorting to torture."

Beckman cleared her throat. "While I'm glad everyone is catching up to where I was an hour ago on everyone's motivations, I think the more important question is what do I do with the three of you?"

"Ma'am?" Casey said.

"Bartowski is the only one of you that isn't expendable to me," she said. "Shaw is done—"

"I was the ranking CIA member of the team. I was well within my authority to—"

Beckman cut him off viciously. "'Was' being the operative word. As of this moment, you are no longer an active field agent. The new DDO, Myers, is being read into the program as we speak. Former Special Agent Shaw will return to Washington to debrief our Ring analysts. And then you're going into protective custody. There will be a formal review of your actions by the Deputy Director before any change in status is made official, but for now? You're done, Daniel. Your country thanks you for your service."

Shaw's jaw tightened and his hands curled into fists.

Beckman took a step back and banged on the heavy door. It opened and she beckoned the same black-clad men in to take Shaw into custody. He kicked his chair back and shot to his feet, in a fighting stance. "Don't," Casey said, "You'll just make it worse."

Beckman's goons put Shaw in cuffs and shackles and led him out. "Are those really necessary?" Chuck wanted to know, but Beckman glared him back to silence wordlessly. As Shaw passed Chuck, he thought he could hear the man mumbling something to himself. It sounded like _I'm sorry. _But the man had just got through saying how he wasn't sorry, so why in the hell? _I'm sorry, Eve._ Chuck blinked. Who the hell was Eve?

Once the door shut behind the men taking Shaw away, Beckman turned her gaze back on Team Bartowski. Chuck grabbed Sarah's left hand reassuringly under the table. She gave his hand a quick squeeze, and he realized she was trying to reassure _him_.

"And that just leaves us with the two of you. Colonel Casey, Agent Walker, this is unacceptable," Steam was practically shooting from her ears. "Successful mission or not, you are tasked with the protection of the Intersect until Chuck is certified field ready. What part of that assignment involves flying him to Afghanistan and putting him into full-fledged combat?"

Casey and Sarah were disturbingly quiet. "I'd like to know. That wasn't a rhetorical question."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Casey finally managed to growl. "I made a faulty assumption, namely that Agent Shaw had cleared the mission with you. I thought everything was cleared through the proper chain of command, when it wasn't. It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't," she said, "You're lucky I don't bust you back to Captain! And you, Agent Walker?"

"Shaw invoked your name in getting us to Edwards," Sarah said slowly. "I assume that portion of the mission was authorized?"

"It was," Beckman replied, wondering where this was going.

"I wonder how you think I should have proceeded," Sarah said. Her fingers laced through Chuck's pulsed with warmth, and she kept her tone neutral somehow. "You practically shoved Shaw down our throats, and made it perfectly clear that he was my direct superior through the CIA chain of command. Was I supposed to disobey orders and refuse to get on the plane? Tranq Chuck, put him over my shoulder, fight my way through a US military base and hijack a plane back to Burbank? At the first whiff of suspicion I had? You'd be locking me up for treason right now if I'd done anything of the sort. What exactly, was I supposed to do, Ma'am? I did what any rational human being would have done, lacking all the facts."

Beckman bristled at first, but managed to maintain her composure. She sighed. "I don't know. You're right, Agent Walker, but to keep it from happening again, I'm altering Chuck's protection scheme," She produced a watch with a heavy silver band, and tossed it to Chuck. "Put that on."

Chuck had to let go of Sarah's hand to comply, but he had the watch on as quickly as he could. He nearly fumbled the clasp in his haste. There was a muted click a moment after the watchband closed. Chuck frowned and tried the clasp. It wouldn't budge. His eyes locked onto the General's, shock painting his face. "What?"

"Your new watch will only come off with a specific coded radio sequence, which is known only to myself and Deputy Director Myers. The band is made from a special Titanium-carbide alloy so that the band can't be cut. If anyone wants to take you off the grid, they'll have to cut your hand off. Additionally, I've cleared it with the new Deputy Director Ops, so there will be a predator drone circling the GPS coordinates given to it from that watch, twenty four hours a day. Lastly, the watch is equipped with an anti-tamper device, in case anyone does try to cut the band," Beckman drew a small PDA from her coat pocket.

If the drone receives a tamper signal from the watch, I can authorize a Hellfire strike package from this. I'd rather see you dead than in the hands of the enemy, Chuck."

He couldn't breathe for a moment. Chuck felt ice forming in his stomach, and then it seemed like his guts fell out onto the floor. There was no planning around something like that, was there? His eyes darted involuntarily to Sarah's. She was wearing an identical expression of horror, but only for a bare blip of a second before she schooled her features back to stern mask of super-agent Walker.

Beckman wasn't done. "Agent Walker, your doctors tell me the wound you sustained is more serious than it originally appeared. I'm having you flown to Berlin, where I'd like to have a nerve specialist take a look. If you check out we'll send you back to Burbank in the next few days. If not, well, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it. Until then, Colonel Casey, escort Mr. Bartowski back home."

"Uh... what about my car?" Sarah said. She met Chuck's eyes briefly, meaningfully. He'd left his burner there, as well as that second watch. Maybe there was still hope.

"My Crown Vic is still over at Fort Bragg too."

Beckman rolled her eyes. "Fine. Chuck, I'll assign you a temporary protection detail until you're back from Edwards. Casey, you can finish your training refresher and drive back."

Sarah frowned, "And my Porsche?"

Beckman grinned. "Bartowski can drive it back to your hotel."

Sarah glared at him for a handful of seconds, long enough to win her an Oscar. "Don't you dare wreck my car Bartowki," She said, and Chuck realized maybe it wasn't quite all an act. There would definitely be Angry!Sarah to deal with if he so much as scratched the paint.

Chuck swallowed maybe a touch too theatrically and put his hand out while Sarah dug for her keys. As he took the keys from her, Sarah's eyes looked wet, as if she was holding back tears. Couldn't be. She let her fingers trail against his a beat longer than she should have, especially with Beckman in the room, but it looked like no one noticed. Casey at least would have said something, and he was oddly subdued as Chuck was escorted out.

* * *

The flight from Afghanistan back to Burbank was longer than the one to Germany, but only by about a couple hours. They flew over the Pacific, stopping once in Guam for refueling. It felt like it was about twice as long though. This time, Chuck was forced to remain firmly strapped in the entire time, with a pair of gruff men in black fatigues in the seats to either side of him, watching his every twitch and intake of breath. Even during the stop in Guam. Chuck had tried to undo his 5-point restraints so he could get up and stretch, but his guards had glared at him like he had been blowing garlic breath in their faces, so he subsided. After the first time they'd tried to come into the bathroom with him, Chuck tried to hold it. When it was finally time to get off the plane, yet another C-5 Galaxy, Chuck's temporary protective detail went first as if expecting an ambush, guns drawn and taking in all possible angles of attack. Some of them were a little comical. How, in the name of Pong were bad guys supposed to rappel off the top of the plane he'd _flown in on?_

The one bright spot was that Chuck managed to pocket his burner and dupe watch from the center console before the men piled into Sarah's Porsche behind him.

At the gate, Chuck stopped to show his Major Carmichael ID one last time. The M.P. waved him through, but Chuck didn't drive off right away. He thought about it for a moment. "This is gonna sound weird, but do you mind?"

"Sir?"

"Uh, what day is it?"

But the M.P. just grinned like that was one he'd heard before, "It's Wednesday, Sir."

Chuck glanced at his horrible new watch with a sudden sinking feeling. Beckman had set the thing for Burbank time, thankfully. 5:14 p.m. "Sunofabitch," Chuck breathed. He was going to be late for Ellie's birthday party, barring some kind of miracle. His eyes flicked across the dials and pedals and various switches in the Porsche, and he flashed. "Hang onto your butts!"

Chuck slammed the car into gear and peeled out.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N: Next Chapter. Love is in the air for Jeff. No seriously. Also other things will happen. Obviously. Nobody wants to read about Jeff's love life for a whole chapter do they?

Every time you leave a review an angel gets its wings. Right? Wasn't that that line from that one movie with the guy and the thing? That wasn't the line? Whatever. I like reviews.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: So, here we go. Slight delay due to me being sick and not wanting to get out of bed to turn on my laptop and do any actual work the last week or so. Happy fourth of July to me! (and to you)

Onward! Standard boilerplate disclaimer about how I don't own Chuck and don't make any money from writing this goes... here.

* * *

Chapter 14: Home Again

The Porsche's tires spun, rubber shrieking in protest as Chuck downshifted. The two NSA stooges in the car with him cringed, but only one actually had the nerve to open his mouth. "You're crazy! Stop this thing; I wanna get out!"

Chuck laughed aloud. "Relax Agent Milhaus. I know what I'm doing."

"I didn't sign up for this! Beckman never said you were crazy!" He stomped his foot on the imaginary brake on his side of the car. Chuck swerved into the oncoming lane to miss sideswiping a station wagon in the intersection. He spun the wheel back, the car ducking back across the yellow line, missing a sedan heading the other direction by inches.

"Frankie say, relax; we're almost there," Chuck said, shifting back into fifth and flooring it.

"Humina humina humina..." Milhaus mumbled, hanging on to the door. The sound of a siren behind them snapped the agent out of his chant. "Son of a bitch, Carmichael. If we get arrested this is on you!"

"There's a flasher in the glovebox, put it on the roof. We'll be fine," Chuck grinned. "And I thought you were a mute there for a second."

"You're gonna wish I was in a minute. I don't care who you are," he said, rooting Sarah's police light out of the glove compartment, and planting it on the dashboard. "Is that really going to cut it? I think you just broke 90 in a 30."

"Watch this," Chuck said. Milhaus whimpered when Chuck skidded around the corner and threw the wheel over. The Porsche spun a full 360 into a parking spot maybe three inches longer than Sarah's car. The police cruiser shot past them nearly a hundred yards before the brake lights came on and the car squealed to a stop.

Chuck tossed him the keys. "All yours. You've got the address to drop off the car, right?"

"What? You're just leaving me holding the bag?"

"I don't have my CIA credentials on me, and I'm late for a party anyway," Chuck said, then slid across the hood to head down an alley

"You!" Milhaus growled, and pointed at Chuck, his hand quivering. "I see why Casey likes you so much. You're like his Mini-Me."

Chuck stumbled and fell, but he had the presence of mind to spin so he landed on his butt. "You take that back," he said, furious.

"Call 'em like I see 'em, Carmichael," Milhaus said. "You should get going if you don't want to talk to the cops." From the back seat, the other NSA agent shoved the drivers seat forward, leaned out and blew chunks all over the concrete. Chuck and Milhaus both turned from their bickering.

"What the hell, Sovino?" Milhaus shook his head. "It wasn't that bad."

"Ha!" Chuck said. "You better not have got any on the seats, or Sarah's going to kill you."

Milhaus rolled his eyes. "We got this Carmichael. Disappear."

Chuck tipped an imaginary hat and darted around the corner. The sirens cut off when Milhaus flashed his NSA ID, but Chuck still had a couple blocks of back yards to go through. He grinned as he came up to a heavy chain-link fence. The flash was one he remembered from the mission with Carina a few months ago. He shook it off and planted one of his Chuck Taylor's halfway up the fence.

"Whoo!" Chuck bellowed and kept going up, grabbed the top of the fence one handed and flung himself out into open air. Chuck turned a somersault and quick-stepped across the roof of a doghouse, hit the ground and rolled into a full sprint.

* * *

He skidded around the corner into the courtyard a couple of minutes later, barely breathing hard, to be confronted with Ellie's birthday party in full swing.

Morgan popped his head out a window. "Psst. Dude, you're in so much trouble."

"Don't I know it," Chuck breathed and fiddled with his watchband absently. "Ellie noticed I'm late?"

"Remember your birthday party the year you met Sarah?"

"Oh, my god, she didn't?"

Morgan stroked his beard and nodded earnestly. "It's a theme party, and the theme is 'Haaaave you met Chuck'? Only Chuck's nowhere to be seen. She's getting ready to go Bartowsk-zilla on you. I hate to say it, Chuck, but discretion may be the better part of valor on this one."

"I can't, and it's Woodcombe-zilla now. Remember?"

"Feh," Morgan said, waving the comment away. "It'll never last."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "They've been dating since med school. I think your time has passed, Morg."

"Well, you know I probably wouldn't be this pathetic, if you hadn't ruined my chances with Hannah," Morgan said, and arched an eyebrow.

Chuck grunted. "I said I was sorry about that. Look, I'll make it up to you. Call of Duty marathon tonight after the party?"

Morgan sighed. "You know me too well," He stuck his hand out and Chuck took it to pull him into a quick one-armed hug.

"I missed you," Chuck said. Morgan pushed him back out to arms' length.

"Dude," Morgan said, "that's a little creepy."

"Sorry, been hanging out with Jeff and Lester too much."

"You've been gone almost a week."

"At a Nerd Herd training thing," Chuck explained. "Wall to wall Jeff and Lester. The names and faces may change but the creepy stays the same."

"Heh," Morgan said, then tensed. "Heads up, big sister incoming at five o'clock." Chuck glanced over his shoulder and spotted Ellie approaching, face like a thunderhead. Morgan popped back inside the window and slammed the Morgan Door, leaving Chuck stranded, like a deer in the headlights.

Ellie had a beer in either hand, one of which she quickly shoved in Chuck's direction. "So," she said.

Chuck gulped, but managed not to fumble the beer. "I'm sorry I'm late, but at least I made it, right?"

"We should talk."

Chuck blew out a heavy sigh. "Okay."

"What's going on with you?" Ellie demanded. "I want a straight answer out of you for once. Now I know you and Sarah had problems but—"

"Hang on wait, is that what this is?" Chuck said. "I thought this was a fix-up-Chuck evening."

"It is. I don't think Hannah's right for you," Ellie said. "You should get back together with Sarah."

Chuck blinked. "I thought you liked Hannah."

"I don't not like her, it's just..." Ellie shrugged. "It's not like I could say anything at dinner last week; she was right there."

"Good. I broke up with her before I had to leave town."

Ellie arched an eyebrow. "Really?" She didn't look all that pleased.

"What's wrong? The only reason I didn't tell you was because I thought you'd be upset. Now you're saying you wanted me to break up with her all along, but you seem upset I did it without consulting you," Chuck said, and took a pull of his beer to calm himself down.

"I'm not upset exactly," Ellie said, "It's just, it used to be that I'd be the first to know, and I had to meet the girl coming out of your shower. Now she's out of your life almost a week ago and you didn't think I'd want to know."

Chuck winced. "That's not the way it is. That thing came up out of nowhere, and I had to leave town. I didn't get to talk to _anyone_ before I left. You're not special."

Ellie grinned crookedly. "I'm not, huh?"

"Uh... I mean, not in a bad way."

"I got that," She said, "So- Hannah's out of the picture. When are you and Sarah getting back together?"

"Ugh," Chuck said. "Come on, El, lay off. I haven't even talked to her in weeks, since that thing at the Costa Gravan Embassy dinner."

"That's not an 'I'm working on it, Ellie,'" She arched an eyebrow.

"I'm working on it Ellie," Chuck said.

"Good. Call her."

"What, now?"

"No, next week. Of course now!" She snapped. "Scoot!"

Chuck rolled his eyes and shuffled off to a secluded corner of the courtyard. Of course he couldn't actually call Sarah, as much as he wanted to hear her voice. For one thing, she was in Germany at the moment, and he wasn't sure his iPhone was up for the international call anyway. For another thing, he couldn't just up and call her without risking his cover with Beckman and Casey. And still another thing, Sarah would probably just yell at him for breaking communications discipline if he _did _call her.

Chuck scanned the party, and Ellie was watching him over the head of a shorter woman. Her eyes locked onto his, she mimed putting a phone to her ear, and pointed at him. Crap. He checked his stupid watch he couldn't take off. 7:45. Tack on what, seven hours for her in Germany? Eight with daylight savings time? It was June, so was that still going? He shook himself. All of which meant it was after two in the morning, maybe after three if he was right on the time difference. He rolled his eyes and dug out the burner.

**Sorry about timing. Blame pushy big sister. How'd it go with the doctor?**

Chuck sat and drank his beer, phone in hand. He was nearly finished when a reply came through.

**Don't be sorry. Good to hear from you. No nerve damage. Be home soon.**

**Any ideas on the watch?**

Chuck frowned and let his fingers do the talking.

**Was going to ask you about that. Need tech specs. **

**Give me your mainframe pass. GB probably monitoring my login.**

**

* * *

**

**K. Check backup comm tomorrow. Don't forget to edit the activity logs.**

**

* * *

**

**Way ahead of you.**

**Big sis pushing for us to get back together. What should I tell her?**

**

* * *

**

**Nothing. Baby steps. Maybe let her catch us on the couch one night.**

Chuck was gathering his thoughts for a response, when Devon plucked the phone out of his hand. "Ellie told you to call her, not text."

"Hey, damn it!" Chuck said, jumping up and reaching for the burner, but his brother in law went up on his tiptoes, shoving the phone over his head and out of Chuck's reach. "Devon, come on!"

"What is she, speed dial one?" Captain Awesome put the phone to his ear. "It's ringing."

Chuck's eyes widened, and his thoughts roiled uselessly. They weren't supposed to call each other on the burners unless it was an emergency. He was going to have to do something drastic. "Devon, that's my _work_ phone," Chuck said, and made another grab.

"Wait, what?" Devon stumbled and Chuck crashed into him. The two went down in a tangle of limbs, right into the fountain. Chuck came up out of the water, phone in hand, his thumb already pushing the end call button, but it looked like the water had done a good enough job there, the screen was a fuzz of static for a split second before it went dark. A moment later Devon broke the surface, spitting out a mouthful of water.

"Not awesome, Bro."

"That's my line. This phone is for emergencies, Devon," Chuck said. "That call probably bought me an official reprimand in my file. Now play it off for the party."

"The what?" Devon glanced around. The party had come to a complete and utter halt. People were staring at them, though it didn't look like anyone had been close enough to hear their whispered conference over the music. Devon laughed. "I think you've had enough. You're drunk, Bro! Not Awesome."

Chuck grinned. "On that note," he said and climbed with exaggerated clumsiness out of the fountain, stumbled across the courtyard in a fair impression of falling-down-drunk, and took three tries to open the door.

* * *

Somehow, in the morning, he had a hangover. It wasn't fair. He hadn't _actually _been drunk—stupid amounts of grape soda with Morgan notwithstanding—he'd just been pretending, but the hangover was the genuine article, like he'd downed a quart of tequila on an empty stomach. When he thought about it, Chuck figured maybe it was a combination of his ridiculous case of jetlag, staying up too late and drinking on an empty stomach. He grabbed some aspirin from the medicine cabinet and glanced at his watch. 4:00. He'd been asleep for two hours, and now he was wide awake. Stupid jetlag, stupid watch being orbited by Predator drones, stupid Beckman. Chuck wondered idly if he could figure out a way for his running away with Sarah to wind up biting Beckman in the butt, get her to eat a week's pay or something. Shouldn't be too difficult to make some of the hacking he was going to have to do trace back to the General.

Chuck felt the beginnings of a grin. Maybe this new watch wasn't so bad after all. Before he showered, he logged onto his contact account at Newsarama. He scanned the news out of Wizard World Philadelphia, which had been going on the weekend of the Afghanistan mission. After catching himself up on all the comics news he could handle, he checked the saved messages folder. Sarah had been by, noticed his message about Awesome and the broken burner, and left her password to the castle mainframe: C#^ckf3v3r. Heh. He grinned ear to ear, and wondered how long, exactly, she'd been suffering from that particular affliction, and what the treatment might entail.

He took a cold shower and changed into his Nerd Herd uniform. He finished straightening his tie, looked himself in the mirror, and felt a little shocked. It felt like getting ready for a mission, like he was putting on a costume, a Mariachi uniform, or the Doctor's outfit from that one time. It didn't feel like it always had before, like going to work, back to the grind, the daily drudge and toil. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel, about that shift. The Buy More had always felt real, even now, when it was little more than a cover. If he lost that, how was he supposed to keep showing up, keep lying about his relationship with Sarah? He poured a bowl of cereal and sighed. Heady thoughts for four in the fracacta morning.

"Hey, dude, you're up early," Morgan said sleepily.

"What?" Chuck turned and pinwheeled backward in his chair to the floor with a crash. "My eyes! My eyes!" He clamped a hand over his face and stayed down on the floor. "I thought we talked about the whole 'sleeping au naturel' thing when you moved in."

"Wha- oh, dude! Sorry! Sorry, Chuck. I'll be right back," Morgan said. He raised his voice to carry from his bedroom. "You've been gone almost a week, dude. I guess I just fell back into old habits."

"And out of your pants," Chuck said under his breath, and rolled his eyes.

Morgan came back in under a minute, wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt and pajama pants. "Before the 'incident,' we were discussing your getting up super early. Now I see that you also seem to be ready for work..." He checked the clock on the microwave. "Four and a half hours early. What's up?"

"Nothing, I just... I missed a lot of time this last week, so I bet we're up to our eyeballs in late paperwork and stuff."

Morgan grunted. "Seriously? Okay. I guess I'll go get ready, too."

"No, man," Chuck said. "I'm out the door, like _right now_ right now. I'll leave the Herder for you. Why don't you get some more sleep?"

"You sure _you_ got enough?"

"Jetlag," Chuck said, tossing on his messenger bag and heading for the door.

Morgan nodded to himself. "Wait, jetlag? From Denver?" He shrugged and pulled the t-shirt off over his head and headed back to bed.

* * *

Chuck used his keys to the Buy More to let himself in, before heading down to Castle. It felt weirdly empty, with Casey still off picking up his Crown Vic at Fort Bragg, and Sarah off in Germany, but that was just what he needed today. He sat down at the conference table and let out a sigh. He needed a plan. Chuck let his eyes wander around the room, until they were dragged up to the security camera covering the main workstations. First things first.

Chuck logged onto the mainframe as Sarah, and was pleased to see that, just as he'd suspected, she had Superuser status, unlike Chuck, who'd been only grudgingly allowed even less power over the network than a standard employee at the Buy More had on _those_ systems. With the increased access to the system, Chuck was just a quick half-dozen lines of code away from... there, perfect.

The huge plasma lit up with the feeds from every security camera in the building. Chuck shifted through datafeeds until he found himself looking down on himself, sitting at the monitors in Castle. He rewound the digital recording to ten minutes before his arrival, then pasted the footage back in a loop. Then, wiping out the logs of his presence took only a further two dozen DOS commands. As far as the CIA was concerned, Castle was empty, which meant Chuck was free to say or do anything he wanted for the next however long he needed, with Casey safely out of the way.

"I'm in love with Sarah Walker, my CIA handler, and I'm going to ask her to marry me, the next chance I get," Chuck said to the darkened room. He stuck out his tongue, "Pbbbbt!" Then, he remembered just how easy it was to bug a watch, and he froze, eyes fixed at the new watch Beckman had forced on him. Crap.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, to check the technical specifications on his watch. He thought better of it after a moment. He didn't have a model number, and all that would tell him was whether the microphone came standard or was an add-on, and although it could tell him where the anti-tamper circuitry was, which was important, the main concern at the moment was whether or not he was transmitting voice to Beckman's office 24/7. He needed something, he just didn't know—Chuck's eyes winced shut against the flash. "Oh. Yeah, that'll do it."

He quickly looped the cameras in the armory, and then went shopping. If he messed this up, he'd need to be on his way to the bus station before Beckman could get a team to his location. No pressure, right? He found the scanner in the armory and ran back into the main room to hook it into the mainframe. Without the computer, any encrypted data sent by the watch would just sound like static to him, and he'd never know the difference until a literal crap-load of NSA cleaners swarmed in on his head.

Chuck swept the scanner's receiver over his wrist and started singing. He had a decent voice, if he did say so himself, and he did because he was the only one there, unless Beckman was listening in through that stupid _stupid _watch, and damn it that joke was wearing thin two days ago in Afghanistan. Now he was just beating a dead horse.

Chuck didn't know a lot about their tactical radio sets, but the transmissions would either be constant, or, 'burst' transmissions, which he only knew about thanks to Casey, and assumed it meant the data would be sent periodically, with higher bandwith, but not a constant stream that could be easily picked up and—oh, there was a burst option on the scanner. Neat.

Chuck ran through the whole AM band on both settings, public and private frequencies, leaving no stone unturned. It took almost a quarter of an hour, to do the thing properly, and Chuck was sweating bullets the entire time, expecting the door to smash in any second, but when he finished the scan and found nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't taking any chances, though. There could still be a recording device, built in, that could transmit a days worth of intel when triggered by a signal from Beckman and that same PDA she was planning to use to vaporize him if he ever got captured.

He went back on the mainframe and ran a search for all CIA issue tracking watches, pulling up specs and pictures, holding his wrist up to the screen in comparison until he found it.

_ Microphone and 512kb encrypted burst transmitter, standard. GPS tracking, remote clasp, anti-tamper alarm, all optional. _No listing for a recording device. Beckman was slipping, thank God. He printed the whole file, all two hundred pages of technical specifications and blueprints for all the optional elements. It was one of the few cases he was thankful for CIA bureaucracy and all its redundancies. There was nowhere Beckman could hide technical information now that Sarah had given him her mainframe access.

Without Sarah's access, he would never have been able to get his hands on those. A grin split his face. This was going to work. He called up another big file, the specs and blueprints of the standard Predator drone, and fed the information to the printer.

If his dad could co-opt a Predator multiple times without it ever being traced back to him, it shouldn't be that hard for Chuck to do it just the once, so that it crashed in some sparsely populated area when he skipped town. Chuck had the drone schematics up on the main plasma screen, clicking through them with the remote. _He's not smarter than you. He said so himself. Think, Bartowski. Think._ He lost track of time, and eventually, his head fell forward, his eyelids drooping.

* * *

His phone rang, snapping him out of a really awesome dream. Sarah had been doing this thing with her tongue that— Chuck shook his head. "Snap out of it, Bartowski," he said. "Great now I'm talking to myself."

He hit the slider on his iPhone without looking at the caller ID. "Bartowski," he said after a yawn cracked his jaw.

"Dude, where are you?" Morgan's voice said from his phone. "I thought you said you were coming up here early. It's nine fifteen. You're late, and Big Mike's on some kind of tear. You need to get in here fast."

Chuck scrambled over to the printer, stuffing hundreds of printout pages of classified materials into his Nerd Herd messenger bag. They were necessary for him and Sarah if they were ever _really _going to be together, to make it work. But, strictly speaking, printing up these documents, taking them out of Castle to use for his own ends... if Chuck stopped to let himself think about it, this was against the law. He was committing treason, or at least some kind of treason-like activity, and it wasn't as though Beckman was going to draw the distinction. He tried not to let himself think about it. "Uh, what's that Morgan? I'm having trouble hearing you, bad signal." He pulled up the Buy More surveillance, flicking through, trying to find somewhere without people, that he might have been hiding. Chuck spotted his bearded friend in the middle of the sales floor a little back from the Nerd Herd desk.

"Where. Are. You?" Morgan said, slowly and distinctly.

"You know me, I'm in..." He flicked through cameras. Dammit, though there was an access hatch there. If he ran, he might be able to beat Morgan to it. "I'm in the Home Theater Room."

"Dude, I already looked there!"

Chuck winced. Crap. There was only one other option. "Okay, buddy, you caught me. I'm not in the store. I..." Chuck paused, thinking his cover story through. Hopefully it would sound like he was reluctant to let this information slip, which he was, because it was just another lie he'd have to juggle along with all the rest, and he didn't have his burner to text Sarah and give her the lowdown. "I went to Sarah's."

"Right on, dude!" Morgan said. "You two back together?"

"Ah, no. No, I... made kind of an idiot of myself. She wouldn't even come to the door."

"Dude, that sucks," Morgan said. "But then where are you?"

"I'm a couple minutes out. I don't want to talk about it."

Morgan sucked wind through his teeth. "Dude, she called the cops on you?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it." Perfect, that was _not _the proper assumption for Morgan to make, but now Chuck was practically married to that cover story. Casey would be able to hear the tapes of the conversation on the phone tap he had on the iPhone, which meant that now had to be the truth. Chuck frowned; how the hell was he going to hack the LAPD files and... oh, that's helpful. Sarah's Superuser status gives her access to the LAPD database. With that access, oh, look at that, new police report... crap. He deleted the report he had just started. Chuck was getting his cover stories mixed up. Casey knew Sarah wasn't there, but in Berlin getting her stab wound looked at, which meant he needed to go to Casey when he got back to make that story fly. In the meantime, he had to falsify the Castle tapes to show him crashing on one of the cots in holding. Jetlag was a good enough excuse there, then re-falsify all the logs, and he was home free. Ten minutes tops.

"Chuck! Chuck are you still there? You gotta get down here, this is insane!"

He blinked. "What, yeah, Morgan. I'm in traffic, can it wait? I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

Eleven minutes later, Chuck walked into the Buy More for the second time that day. He got halfway to the Nerd Herd desk before he stopped, shocked, appalled, disgusted, and any other adjective along those lines that would have been applicable. Jeff was locked in an... amorous embrace with a huge blond man. Chuck shook himself and forced himself to move forward, closer to the tableau. As he approached, more details bled through, and his eyes popped. That wasn't a man. It was a close-run thing, but the high pony-tail and the short black Nerd Herd skirt were dead giveaways. Chuck blinked... and then blinked again.

She had to be two inches taller than Chuck himself, and blocky with slabs of muscle. What. The. Hell? Morgan popped up behind him, and Chuck jumped a foot in the air. "Gah!"

"So, that's the new Nerd Herder," Morgan said. "And it seems she's taken a _bit_ of a shine to Jeff."

"Buh," Chuck forced out. "Looks like the Captain of the 1980 East German Women's Olympic team. For weightlifting. Big Mike hired her? To fix computers?"

"No, to bolt World War II airplanes together," Morgan deadpanned. Chuck and Morgan couldn't tear their eyes away. It was like a trainwreck that way.

Chuck snorted, but still couldn't drag his eyes off the spectacle of Jeff's extended liplock with the huge woman. "Rosie the Riveter. Nice. You don't get too many good Rosie the Riveter references these days."

"I try to mix it up," Morgan said. "You know how I do."

"What do you think, final sign of the Apocalypse?" Chuck asked.

"Possible. You need to go over there and make sure."

"Why me?" Chuck protested.

"PDA on the sales floor," Morgan said. "Breach of proper Nerd Herd decorum. You're the Nerd Herd _supervisor_."

"You're the assistant manager!"

"And as assistant manager, I'm saying that you need to go over there, and handle yo' bidness," Morgan said. "Looks like they're coming up for air, move it." He shoved Chuck gently in the back.

"There will be repercussions from this, buddy," Chuck said. "I promise you. As many times as I caught you and Anna in the home theater room? Karma being what it is, there will be repercussions."

"Go with God, my friend."

"I haven't even clocked in yet!" Chuck said, grasping at straws. Morgan shook his head and pointed.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Jeff, I will fear no evil for though art—"

"Thirty feet behind you. No more stalling, Chuckles."

Chuck trudged over, clearing his throat before Jeff and his huge blond girl could finish getting their second wind. "Excuse me, Jeff. Uh... sorry I don't know your name."

"You must be Chuck," She said, and her voice was a stark contrast to what it should have been. "My darlink Jeffery has just been tellink me so much about you."

"Wha—who's Jeffery? You mean Jeff?" Chuck swallowed. "Right, anyway, uh, I need you two to keep the, PDA, uh... a little less public, if you could. You're distracting the sales staff, and the customers, and anybody who walks by the front doors."

"Yes, okey dedokely, as you say in this country, yes?" She said. "I have the paperwork, yes? Oh, I am almost forget. I am Nastashya. My friends call me Nasty." She bent down to give Jeff a quick peck on the cheek, and then sauntered away, hips swaying in what Chuck figured was supposed to be a tantalizing manner. He shuddered and tore his eyes away. Jeff's shiver a noticeable beat later was completely different, though it might have looked similar from the outside.

"Thanks for the advice, Chuck," Jeff said. "That whole not being creepy thing was hard at first, but I think Nasty and me could go the distance. Lester says we could use a backup singer for Jeffster, and she has this unbelievable singing voice."

Chuck winced horribly, one eyelid twitching and his teeth bared in a snarl. "You're... welcome," he finally managed to get out through gritted teeth. His life had just taken another turn for the surreal, and Chuck didn't know what to do about it. He clutched his messenger bag full of classified government materials to his chest. That bag was his only way out.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Next time, more fallout from last mish. Plus, we'll check in with Sarah. Shouts to _daywalkr82 _for being _really_ good at catching all my stupid comma splices. And I teach English to college freshmen. I know, trippy. No one is immune.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: So, I realize there was no Sarah last chapter, except for a couple of text messages. What was I _thinking_! To make up for it, I threw in another fan favorite character this chapter. Thanks again to _daywalker82 _for being the grammar and punctuation police.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, and I don't make any money by writing this.

* * *

Chapter 15:

"Bartowski!" Chuck jumped and spun to face Big Mike. "My office."

"Right away,"Chuck said, and tried his best to wipe the images from his brain. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for Jeff; its just— okay, maybe he wasn't happy for Jeff—it's so insane. What woman in her right mind... Chuck shook his head and followed Big Mike. Whatever this was, Chuck couldn't afford to be sidetracked by the awful spectacle of Jeff in love.

Big Mike slumped in his chair, and peered at Chuck over steepled fingers. "So, you went to Denver last week for the Nerd Herd Symposium."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah I did."

Mike arched an eyebrow. "If that's true, why aren't you on the roll sheet?"

"Do what now?" Chuck said, and tugged at his collar. Mike tossed a sheaf of papers at him.

"I had them fax that over when I didn't hear back from that Petermeyer guy."

That name—Chuck knew that name from somewhere, but—Shaw. Damn. He hadn't been able to follow through with Chuck's cover, and Beckman probably hadn't been in a mood to listen after they hauled him away. Crap crap crap, what was the protocol for this? He needed an out, and fast. "I don't understand, you think what? That I didn't go to Denver like I said?"

"Your name isn't anywhere on that list, I checked twice just to be sure. And this is getting dangerously close to actual _work _checking up on you," Big Mike said. "I need an explanation, Bartowski."

Chuck winced and shrugged. "I don't have one. I was there, and I don't know what to say other than that there must be some kind of misunderstanding with the paperwork."

"That's what I thought, but I checked up on Mr. Petermeyer too. Corporate says they don't have any record of the man." Chuck rolled his eyes. Son of a bitch, Shaw! Way to not follow through.

He shrugged again, eyes flitting about in search of some out. "I don't know what to tell you. I was there. Wait a second; I need to make a call."

Big Mike scowled suspiciously and Chuck dug out his iPhone. His hands shook and he found Beckman's office from his contacts.

The receptionist picked up after one ring. "General Beckman's office. How may I direct your call?"

"It's Chuck Bartowski."

"I'm sorry, what was that name again? Do you have a code in phrase?"

"Uh, I do. But..."

"Is this call secure on your end?"

"Actually, that's why I'm calling. My boss Big Mike thinks I didn't go to this Denver thing and..."

"And your cover is compromised. I'll put you through to the General and we'll fix this for you Mr. Chablowski."

"Bartowski."

"What did _I_ say? Please hold."

Chuck sighed and pressed the phone to his chest. "I'm on hold." The silence had just enough time to become awkward, before the 'on-hold' music came to a stop.

"This is General Beckman."

"It's Chuck," he started, "Something's wrong with the attendance—"

"My assistant explained. Put me on speakerphone."

Chuck freaked out a little. "Really, you—"

"That's an order, Chuck."

"Yes ma'am."

Chuck put his phone down on Big Mike's desk. Beckman's voice came out a little tinny from the little speakers. "This is Veruca Nordquist with Buy More corporate; I assume I'm speaking to... Michael Tucker, store manager for our Burbank location."

"That— that's right, ma'am," Big Mike said. His eyes were wide as pie-plates. "One of my employees was sent to Denver—"

"The Nerd Herd training symposium, yes," She said. "I'm well aware. Mr. Bartowski made quite the impression."

"Oh," Big Mike said, "But he's not on the rolls your office sent over."

"Petermeyer, the bastard," Beckman/Nordquist said. "Well, I hope you haven't been telling tales out of school, Chuck."

"No, ma'am."

"Good. You see, Mr. Tucker, Chuck was instrumental in uncovering large-scale embezzlement by Mr. Petermeyer. I'll get to the bottom of that, but it seems most likely that Petermeyer took Chuck off the roll as some kind of revenge before the police took him away."

"I didn't hear anything about—"

"Of course you didn't," Beckman steamrolled over Big Mike. "I'm working with the VP of Marketing to figure out a way to spin this mess. Mr. Bartowski signed a nondisclosure agreement. That's why he wouldn't tell you what happened."

"Oh," Big Mike said. "Okay then. Is there anything else ma'am?"

"Give Bartowski a raise. He deserves it. Chuck, take me off speaker."

Chuck nearly had a heart attack, and after a second to recover, picked up his phone. "Yes ma'am?"

"We'll have the paper trail finished in about an hour. Don't say I never did anything for you, Chuck." And the line went dead. Beckman was acting like an actual human. This day couldn't get any weirder if it tried. Chuck blinked. He really shouldn't have just thought that. He really shouldn't have done that, set himself up for the plague of locusts or a Jeffster concert. If anything happened now, it was on him, like when people say, 'well at least it can't get any worse' right before it starts raining.

"So," he finally managed to say. "Are we good, Big Mike?"

"Get back to work, Bartowski."

"Actually, I hadn't clocked in yet. Jeff and the new girl were making a spectacle of themselves at the Nerd Herd desk."

"Then get to _work!"_ Chuck ducked out and made a beeline for the break room, only to find Jeff and Nastashya at it again. He punched in and darted out, hurrying over to the Nerd Herd desk. Chuck had only been actually working for maybe half an hour, when a Fed Ex delivery man came up to him.

"Delivery for Bartowski?"

"That's me," Chuck said, signing and taking the package. He noticed a Berlin postmark, and grinned. He flicked open his pocket knife one-handed, with a flourish that Sarah had taught him. Chuck sliced open the package smoothly and opened it to find a shiny new disposable cell phone along with a handwritten note. His grin broadened when he recognized the writing.

**Don't let Awesome tackle you into the fountain again. **

**These things don't grow on trees. **

**You know the drill with the note. **

**Love, SW.**

Chuck stuffed the note into his pocket to dispose of later, flipped to the phone's contacts page and found the one contact, as usual. This model was a better grade than the previous, complete with a flip out texting keyboard.

**You can write it now? That's great! :-D**

The reply was faster than he expected. Maybe she'd taken the opportunity to get herself a better burner as well.

**:-P Oh, hell. Big Red just walked into the lobby. Gotta go.**

**Who?**

**CM.**

Chuck's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. What was Carina doing in Berlin?

* * *

"How did you find me?" Sarah said.

"Got a job. I could use the backup."

"How did you find me?"

Carina waved it off, and flipped her hair out of her face. "I have my ways."

"Ugh, who are you sleeping with in CIA logistics?" Sarah made a sour face. "Or do I want to know? Probably some middle-aged schlub with a beer belly and—"

"Hey, do I make fun of your conquests?"

"Seems like that's all you do."

The redhead narrowed her eyes. "Wait, wait... you still haven't jumped that pet analyst of yours? Walker, there's taking it slow, and there's glacier speed. You've definitely crossed over."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk; I've never seen the mark you wouldn't—"

Carina tapped the side of her nose. "Uh-uh Walker, not how it works. Like I said, I got a job for _you_."

"A job," Sarah said flatly. "And you thought of me."

"Well, it's just like that time in Rio. I need a partner to tag team this guy for a bump-and-run."

Sarah winced. "I can't."

"What, your arm? Doctor's records say you're fine. Maybe not 100%, but definitely mission capable for this."

Sarah scowled. "And how exactly did you get into my doctor's records?"

Carina grinned and shrugged. "It is what it is Blondie."

"You tramped your way into my medical records? God, Carina. You are a piece of work."

"Come on, you're an action junkie just like me," She twirled a strand of red between her fingers. "You need the high."

Sarah waved her wounded arm. "Too much of that going around lately."

Carina grinned, and shook her head. "Yeah, what was that, odds-wise, for you to get a blade to the arm?"

Sarah shrugged self-consciously. "Four on one. Two still standing when it went hand-to-hand. But one was Delta Force. And I had a twisted ankle."

"See, this guy only has two guards total, not even ex-Spetznaz or BND or anything. I think they're actually ex-cops from one of those Stan countries," Carina said. "Between the two of us, this is a day at the beach."

"I said no."

"Nobody says no to me," Carina said, teeth glinting in a Cheshire cat grin.

"Give me a shotgun or something, and I'll back your play, but I'm out of the seduction business, especially on whatever this is you're working that you come up to me unannounced in my hotel lobby."

"Ha! Pull the other one," Carina said, and then blinked. "You're serious." she breathed. "You... Walker, don't take this the wrong way. But when was the last time you got laid? You're obviously not thinking straight."

"Drop it, Carina. I'm fine."

"You're fine. It's been more than six months and you're fine." Sarah sighed and shaded her eyes with one hand. "My God Walker, a year?"

"Drop it."

"More? Jesus Christ, Walker, what is _wrong _with that boy? You know he turned me down too. Maybe he's just not into girls..."

Sarah's eyes flashed. "Shut up, he's not gay. It's complicated."

The other agent grinned. "Quite the contrary, you see how it works is, you take his—"

"Fine," Sarah sighed and clamped a hand over Carina's mouth to halt the flow of words. "Read me in, just shut up about my sex life already."

Carina shrugged and snorted, once Sarah let her go. "Not much to talk about anyway."

Sarah's glare just drew a sigh from the tall redhead. "Come on, you got a room?"

* * *

They drew a couple of leers from the men at the bar as they walked to the elevators, to Carina's smug satisfaction, and Sarah's vague annoyance. Usually, Sarah welcomed a visit from Carina, she was a breath of fresh air, lifting her out of the usual drudgery of a career that had been all but forced on her in the first place. Now, like the last time she and Carina had crossed paths, Sarah had to lie, to her—when it came to it—only friend outside the Bartowski family. The silence in the elevator was deafening. Sarah could hear the electric whine of the counterweight motors and the hum of the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. She was worried about Chuck, and she couldn't do anything, short of leaving Carina out in the cold to go to him. And if she did that, ol' Carrot-top McSluttypants would know something was up, and that was the last thing Sarah needed at the moment. But if Carina said one more damn word about her non-existent sex life with Chuck... she'd do exactly that, friend or no friend.

At the second floor, a tall man in a pair of tight fitting jeans and a polo shirt, with the look of lean muscle Sarah knew to be indicative of a long distance runner got on the elevator. There was an air of intelligence about him, and he wasn't hard on the eyes. He was just the sort of man Sarah should be showing interest in, if she and Chuck had broken up for real in Prague those months ago, but Sarah didn't have that in her. Carina looked him up and down, obviously coming to the same conclusion about endurance, grinned and glanced over at Sarah out the corner of her eye. She nudged the blond with an elbow, and cut her eyes at the prospect.

Sarah rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, then she huffed her bangs out of her face and surreptitiously shot Carina a special ops hand signal. Carina frowned at the signal; she hadn't been expecting that, and started to open her mouth to ask about it. Sarah shook her head warningly, and the DEA agent shrugged. They got off the elevator without further incident, and Sarah waited until her hotel room door closed behind them to blow up. "What the hell did I just say about putting your nose in my sex-life?"

"Whoa, whoa, I didn't say a word, Walker," Carina said, throwing up her hands. "He just looked like a prime catch, I wanted to make sure you were still breathing."

"I said I was out of the seduction business," Sarah said. "and I meant it."

"What are you, married or something?" Carina laughed, and then did a double take. "Holy shit!"

Sarah winced. "We're not... Damn it, Carina, I told you to butt out."

"I thought you cut Chuckles loose," she demanded. "You said that. You told me... oh my god. How long have you two been secretly boning?"

"Ugh, don't call it that. And we haven't."

"Not _ever? _I figured that was your _cover_. How in the hell—?"

"I take a lot of cold showers."

"I bet," Carina shook her head. "You realize Casey's not stupid, and Beckman's even less stupid. You can't... my God, Sarah, how the hell have you kept this under their radar this long?"

"Like I said, lots of cold showers." Sarah took a deep breath and reached into her purse. "Carina, look, I can't. You knowing this, I need your word."

"Sarah?" Carina said. "What are you talking about."

"I need your word that this isn't getting back to Beckman, or I can't let you leave." Her hand tightened on the grip of her S&W. Carina glanced down to the hand in the purse. She spread her hands; it was a move Sarah had taught her in the first place, ready to defend yourself from a variety of incoming attacks, but appearing perfectly innocent. Carina realized how ridiculous it was, though, using Sarah's move against her, and she slumped her shoulders.

"You really ready to throw it all away over a guy?" Carina said slowly, seriously for once.

Sarah slipped the safety back on, closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "I don't... I don't have anybody to talk to about this, except Chuck. And we have to dodge surveillance so much that its... maybe thirty seconds a day we can actually just be ourselves, if that. I need more. I can't think straight about him," She slumped to a seat on the bed.

Carina smiled and rolled her eyes. "We should have gone to the bar. This is a three-or-four-margarita conversation if I ever heard of one. You gonna take your hand out of your purse, now?"

Sarah let loose a half smile through watery eyes, and pulled her service weapon, held carefully with two fingers, and set it down on the bed. "So, what about this job of yours?"

"Screw the job," Carina said and pulled the chair over from the small writing desk. "My best friend tells me she's throwing her career away over Chuck Bartowski, super nerd, then that's what we talk about." Carina leaned over and scooped up Sarah's weapon, ejected the clip and worked the action to remove the round from the chamber. She waggled the empty pistol. "What the hell, Sarah?"

Sarah smiled, small and vulnerable, then put her head down in her hands. "I know, alright. I know it's crazy. I just love him so much," She sighed. "That's the second time I've ever said that out loud."

"Did he hear it the first time?" Carina asked. Sarah shook her head. "And you're ready to put me down over this? You need to get this guy out of your system before you do something crazy."

"No I don't," Sarah said. "Do you ever think about what comes after, when your tits start to sag and the crows-feet are too big to hide?"

"You're younger than I am, Walker," Carina protested. "And no, I don't think about that. It's a simple outpatient procedure. A little lift, a little tuck. Good as new."

Sarah shook her head. "That's not what I mean, and you're probably the last person on Earth I should be talking about this with."

"But who else have you got?" Carina grinned again.

"Did I ever tell you about my dad?" Sarah asked, mostly rhetorically. Of course she hadn't. If it seemed like a huge shift in topic, so be it. "He was a conman, and I went on the road with him from the time I was seven years old. New city new name, once a month, maybe less. Graham locked him up when I was seventeen, gave me yet another new identity, my base identity with the CIA, the one Beckman thinks is my real name. But from way back when I was seven, I never went by my real name, never put down roots, never had a real relationship last more than two weeks, _maybe_. Graham didn't half give me a choice; he took an emotionally stunted teenager and turned her into a damn machine. To do this job, I buried that little girl so deep I never thought anyone could ever dig her up again. I thought I killed her, Carina. But Chuck, he..." Sarah's voice broke and tears fell before she could stop them.

"He found her," Carina finished it for her.

Sarah nodded, "The first damn day, Carina. The first _day, _he saw that little girl I was before all this hell came down in my life, and I swear the mask never came down. It was up for twenty years, and he brought it down in minutes."

Carina's grin turned into a genuine smile for the first time. "That bracelet I found in your place, the one I said looked like only an idiot in love would wear it."

"His mother's, he gave it to me back before we were really going out," Sarah said. "That was when I knew it was hopeless. I killed a man in cold blood to protect him that night, but it wasn't Sarah pulling the trigger, not really. It was that girl I'd tried to bury all those years ago. He's my life, Carina."

"Well, that's not entirely pathetic," Carina tossed her hair. Sarah wiped her face and scowled.

"You know I still have my knives," Sarah growled.

Carina rolled her eyes. "No, I mean it, good for you. I thought this was just the lack of sex making you crazy. I didn't think it could be real. I mean, you are _you _after all."

"And who is that?" Sarah said. "I just got through telling you."

"Going to tell me your real name, are you?"

"I should probably tell him first," Sarah said, then paused in thought. "Screw it, we never get to talk anyway. My real name, it's Sam."

Carina stuck out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Sam. _My_ real name's Pippy Longstockings."

Sarah rolled her eyes and took her hand back. "So you won't let this get back up the chain of command?"

"You really shouldn't have to ask that Blondie," Carina said, before slipping the loose round back into the chamber. She hit the slide release to seat the round properly, and then passed the gun and the loaded clip back to the blond agent.

Sarah reloaded her sidearm before tucking it away in her purse. "What about that job of yours?"

"I thought you weren't going to help out with that?" Carina said.

"You're my only friend whose name doesn't rhyme with Lebowski. I'm not letting you go in without backup, on foreign soil no less," Sarah said. "Read me in."

Carina's whole demeanor changed, going from slightly spacy party animal to another kind of animal all together, one with serrated teeth and six-inch killing claws. "My target is Luther Mainbrook, the Kali Cartel's money man in Berlin. He helps launder their money through Grand Cayman, then through the German banks, which allows him to distribute it on to their people in the US or wherever they need liquid assets.

Mainbrook is a British national who's been working his way up the ladder the last six months. He's come up on the DEA radar, so I'm back doing what I do best. If I can swipe his room key, or otherwise gain access to his files, we can break their operations wide open, and probably seize better than half a billion in foreign accounts. That's billion with a 'B,' so we're talking some real money here. I've got a picture in here somewhere." Carina dug a small portrait out of her purse. "Surveillance photo I think."

Sarah glanced at the picture for a moment, and then sighed. "Of course."

"What is it?"

"Scrub the mission," Sarah said definitively. "Mainbrook isn't who you think he is. His real name is Cole Barker, he's British SIS working under cover. He's got a couple citations for meritorious service, one from the queen herself. Approach him away from his guards, flash your... credentials, and I'm sure he'll feed you whatever intel he can."

"And you know this how?"

Sarah rolled her eyes, and the silence was a dead giveaway. Her friend grinned. "Nice pull, Walker. And here, I'd given up hope."

"Nothing happened," She said. Though not for lack of trying on his part, which she'd let Carina discover on her own.

"So... you wouldn't care the teensiest bit, if I made a run for him?"

Sarah chuckled, "Please do. Save me another awkward conversation about Chuck. You can handle this from here, and I'm definitely not going to watch. I'm on the next flight to Burbank."

"Can you still be 'whipped,' if you never got any, Walker?"

Sarah stuck her tongue out at her friend and started packing for the flight.

* * *

It was a minor miracle, but Diane Beckman was getting out of the office early. Ever since Bartowski had been sent that damn package by Bryce "Idiot" Larkin after he'd blown up the first Intersect, she'd been working herself to the bone trying either to cover up the mayhem the team inevitably caused, or explain to the Select Intelligence Committee what was going on with the Intersect program without compromising her agents. It was a delicate balance between her mandated responsibility to report on CIA/NSA covert activities on US soil—which was a no-no of epic proportions, if not for the special circumstances involved—and her need to protect Bartowski's secret. If even one of the members of the committee leaked a word of her reports to the Ring, or God forbid, the media... She shuddered a little every time she let herself think about that.

So, her reports had to walk the finest of fine lines between the truth, and what she could actually risk getting out. It was a miracle she hadn't torn all her hair out months ago when Larkin had died and _Bartowski—_Bartowski again— of all people, had gotten the _new _intersect in his head, and then blown _it _up to keep the Ring from capturing the physical computer. Maybe it was something about Stanford that made its alums recklessly blow up multi-billion-dollar government supercomputers, something in the water maybe.

The budget nightmare that was Chuck Bartowski didn't seem to be going anywhere, but at least today, she was getting home at a reasonable hour. She might even be able to sit down and have a normal dinner without interruption, now that she knew for certain Bartowski hadn't popped himself off the grid again. It was a good feeling, knowing he was in pocket at all times.

She pulled her PDA out of her handbag and peered down at the readout. Castle. She glanced at the clock briefly, before turning her gaze toward the copy of his Buy More Schedule she had tacked to the wall of her office. He should have been home by now. Without Walker and Casey there to browbeat him into not being a lazy slacker nerdling, what the hell was he doing in Castle at this hour? Beckman pursed her lips, went back to her desk, and turned on the video link.

Chuck looked up from his work when the monitor beeped. "Mr. Bartowski," She said without her usual scowl, and with an odd tone in her voice. "What exactly are you doing? I thought you'd be at home by now."

Chuck frowned, "If you thought I'd be home, why did you call at Castle?" His eyes flicked down to his watch. "Right, duh."

"The question remains, Chuck," She crossed her arms and leaned forward. "What are you doing there this late?"

"I spent all day catching up on Buy More paperwork. I figured I should catch up on CIA paperwork, too. I'm going through the intelligence dailies from the time I was away, seeing if I flash on anything."

"Oh," She said, eyes wide. "That's very... professional of you. Nice work, Agent Bartowski." She shook her head in consternation and cut the feed. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and shoved the intel folders aside. He put both hands under the table, found the edges of the anti-static work-mat and pulled his current project back up onto the table.

He'd had to raid the Buy More parts stores from back in the cage; he couldn't afford equipment disappearing from Castle. With the backdoor he'd built into the system using Sarah's access, he could cover his tracks in Castle for just about anything he wanted to steal, electronically. All it took was time, time that he didn't always have, as evidenced by the near miss with Beckman a minute ago. So, he was building something. The programming involved was light; mostly, the problem was all the soldering. He was out of practice.

Beckman's little PDA of death had given him the idea, and the wireless antenna and the GPS built into his burner were perfect for what he intended. He checked his watch, and sighed. Morgan was going to want to know why he was late, and where he'd gone, and he was out of stories. It was hard enough keeping all the lies straight _now_ without adding another lie made up out of whole cloth. He just was not cut out for that part of this life; he'd always had Casey and Sarah around to come up with the stories. The last time he'd had to come up with something on the spur of the moment, Sarah had developed a spastic colon. He didn't even really know what that _was!_ He didn't know if he wanted to know, and Graham had called him on it immediately, anyway. Now, sure, Morgan was no Langston Graham, God rest his soul, but he wasn't stupid either.

Chuck grunted and went back to work. When he finally finished and snapped the case back into place, Chuck felt a sense of accomplishment, but he still wasn't satisfied. His new modifications to his disposable cell phone would allow him to send a wireless signal to the Castle cameras, altering the feed with one of several loops of footage he'd prepared. He'd even finally gotten access to the cameras in his bedroom, so maybe Sarah... no, they couldn't risk a sleep-over with Casey right across the courtyard, _and_ Morgan down the hall, even if they didn't do... anything. They had to be smart.

The battery indicator light would flash twice, then change color to confirm the signal was received, so that if the battery was low and the signal didn't go through, he wouldn't mess up and give himself away. He felt a little swell of pride at his work, but he still wasn't satisfied.

The watch was always in his head now, even though he hadn't gone over the schematics as thoroughly as he should have, yet. He wasn't quite ready to risk a Hellfire missile strike on the chance he tripped the anti-tamper circuits. He needed to talk to Sarah before he did that. She probably had an idea or three about how to cut the band already.

Chuck sighed and pulled the intelligence folders back in front of him before putting the cameras back on their live feeds with his new gadget. Blink, blink, green light, back to red. It was working. If he worked fast and didn't find anything, he could get home before eight and maybe slip in the window without Morgan noticing.

The door slid open with a hiss of air, and Casey backed down the stairs, dragging his gun cases. "Ah, feels good to be back."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Gah! Hell, Bartowski, what are you doing here?" Casey said. "It's late; I thought you'd be at home with your girlfriend."

"What?" Chuck said, suddenly on guard. "What girlfriend?"

"You know... Grimes?" Casey said. Chuck glared cold death at Casey, scooped his folders up, and stormed out. Casey boomed a laugh at his back. Nothing like annoying the king nerd. Just a little tit for tat, but it was the best part of his job, aside from the explosions. And that had been a good one; Bartowski and Grimes' 'special relationship' was just ripe for the ribbing. Casey would be laughing about that one for days. He heard the door cycle closed behind Bartowski and logged on to check his departmental email. He never thought to check the activity logs, putting to waste a clever bit of programming on Chuck's part.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: It looks like I'm back on track for a chapter a week like I said in my profile way back at the end of may.

I really do appreciate all the reviews, and if I don't get around to replying to them, it doesn't mean I'm not thankful, or I didn't read your comments. Your reviews are what keep me writing, and I figure it's the same for all the other writers out there, so... if you're enjoying this or any story out there on , please don't be stingy with the little green review button down there. (I'm trying to be better about this myself.)


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thanks as always to _daywalkr82_ for the beta-read. I can never see the trees for the forest. Or is it the other way around?

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I don't make any money from this.

Chapter 16: Too many covers

Chuck was back at the Nerd Herd desk, the next day, still trying to catch up on paperwork. It seemed like weeks had passed with no one lifting a finger back there, instead of just three days minus Chuck Bartowski. And now, Lester wouldn't let up. "So, just don't be creepy? And this was Jeff. He can't just flip a switch and not be creepy. The world doesn't work that way."

"Lester, come on, I wouldn't have believed it either, okay?" Chuck said patiently. This had been going on almost from the moment he'd walked in the door. Jeff and his new squeeze had gone on an install. It was the first time Chuck could remember Jeff ever volunteering to do work, or anything aside from stalking customers through the store, and it wasn't like it was the most demanding installation. He glanced at his watch; still, it was a couple hours they'd been gone, together, and Chuck had a horrible churning feeling in his gut that Jeff's sex life was doing better than his. It wasn't that Chuck should really have cared. Sarah loved him, and he loved her, but still. Stupid CIA/NSA black ops team. "I was being facetious. There's no advice I could give Jeff that explains... what happened. Look, Lester, there's no easy answer I can give you to make dating make sense. It barely ever makes sense to me, okay?"

"No dice, Chuckles," Lester said. "You lasted what, two years with Blondie? Either she was under orders to be your girlfriend from some shadowy government agency, or you know more about girls than you're letting on."

Chuck froze. What were the odds of Lester guessing that? He shook himself. Casey was pretending to fiddle with some DVDs but was watching intently. Why was he watching? Did he suspect something, or was Chuck just getting paranoid? Paranoid-ier? Chuck shrugged and realized Lester was still talking. His eyes widened and Chuck wracked his brain to figure out what the little man had been saying before he decided it wasn't important. "Look Lester, either you believe me or you don't. I don't have time for this," he checked his watch as a cover. "I'm supposed to talk to Morgan about something. Do you know where he is?"

Lester sulked behind the Nerd Herd desk. "I don't know. Maybe he's in the home theater room playing Xbox. When he's not out on the floor making life miserable for us honest hardworking—" He cut off at the wry grin on Chuck's face. "Fine. Either that or holding court in his office, but he's just got that little, 13-inch black-and-white under the desk in there. I'd put my money on the home theater room."

"Thanks," Chuck said.

Lester just scowled. "Yeah, thanks for nothing, fearless leader."

* * *

Chuck made his way across the sales floor, scanning in case Morgan was around to commiserate about his new-found status as the love guru. He didn't really need to talk to Morgan, but any excuse to get away from Lester's constant harping was worth it. Coming up to the home theater room door, Chuck put his shoulder in. "Hey, Morgan, you in there? I need to get away from..." He trailed off, eyes widening involuntarily.

There was a pile of clothing - white shirts and black slacks of the standard Nerd Herd getup-sprawled across the glass coffee table, and a mountain of writhing flesh on the leather sofa. His eyes took in details the like of which he would have to scrub his eye sockets to lose. There was even a hammer and sickle tramp-stamp in the small of her back. "Oh no, oh God!" Chuck breathed, hands covering his face as his eyes winced closed. He stumbled backward, one arm flailing while the other still shielded his eyes. "I'm blind! Oh God, I'm blind! You're supposed to be on an install! Lock the door! Hang a tie, do something!" Chuck peeked between his fingers. In hindsight, he had no idea why he did it, maybe to make sure they were covering up, but still, he should have known better. The flash hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. Nastashya Novikolaevna Korsiva. Ukrainian national, immigrated to the United States after killing two GRU Lieutenants blackmailing her for...

Chuck shook himself out of the flash. He didn't want to know any more than—wait, killed? He rewound the flash—it was a skill he'd developed, thanks to Casey's constant badgering for more information—and looked at the data again. She'd killed them accidentally, when assaulted on a subway platform by... oh, _corrupt _GRU Lieutenants. Not that that made it better, but he wasn't going to bother reporting something like that. In fact, Casey would probably see it as a plus, having another person around who knew how to handle themselves.

Chuck wrestled with the door, distracted by the urge to keep his eyes shut this time, so as not to risk any further damage to his optic nerves. He staggered into a shelf of DVDs, nearly knocking the whole unit over. It took him a second before he recovered and juggled the three closest DVDs that got knocked down. Chuck scrabbled and managed to catch one of them. He growled and stooped down to pick up the fallen DVDs, concentrating on the simple physical nature of the activity to keep his thoughts from flitting back to the horrors of the home theater room. As he placed the DVDs back in their cradles, Chuck tensed. He could feel eyes on his back, and scanned to find who it was.

Casey cocked his head, and Chuck sighed and went over. "What's up, John?"

"You alright Bartowski? You look like you've seen a ghost," Casey said with something approaching genuine concern in his voice.

"No ghosts. In fact I'd prefer it. I walked in on Jeff and the new girl," Chuck said with a shudder. Anyone who hadn't seen what he had would say it was overly theatrical, but if they said it to his face, Chuck would shout them down and to hell with the consequences.

"Wait," Casey said. "That's a girl? She's bigger than I am."

Chuck managed a grin, time to share the horror. "Girl on top, if you're interested."

"Argh!" Casey said, squeezing his eyes shut against the flood of images. "Why, Bartowski, why? What did I ever do to you?"

The grin grew until Chuck could barely contain it. "Do you really want an answer to that, Case?"

Just a grunt for response, the fabled #11, a grudging 'when you're right you're right.' This was only the second time he could remember hearing it. Casey's pained scowl turned thoughtful, "We should move. They're probably finishing up, and I want to be as far away as I can."

The grin slid from Chuck's face like runny eggs, and he was right on Casey's heels as they headed for home appliances. Morgan was just finishing a sale, a middle aged, rather doughty looking woman fawning over him. They caught just the tail end. "—and I'd be happy to have one of our sales associates cart that out to your car for you," Morgan said, and his eyes found Casey, who grunted. "Hey, John. Perfect. I need you to ring up a Grillstar for Mrs. Rutabaga and then help her load up. Alright, big man?" Morgan punched Casey playfully in the arm. Lieutenant Colonel John Casey, former Marine Force Recon scout sniper, did not take well to even playful attempts at assault. He growled, and Chuck put a restraining hand on his shoulder. Casey turned hopeful eyes on Chuck, but he shook his head a fraction of an inch and Casey gave out a dejected grunt. Morgan swallowed and took a step back, and Chuck grabbed him by the vest. Discretion being the better part of valor, Chuck thought he needed to get Morgan out of the line of fire. With Casey involved that wasn't _necessarily_ a figure of speech.

"Dude, what crawled up his butt and died?" Morgan whispered. Chuck darted a glance over his shoulder to make sure Casey hadn't heard. He sometimes could demonstrate hearing like a freaking bat, but it looked like Casey was plenty occupied with frumpy grill-buyer. It looked like he was trying to upgrade the sale to the Beastmaster. If there was one thing about Casey everyone could respect, he never left a job half done, which made Chuck's life difficult now. He had to be careful, timing his activities and his work on the schematics he'd stolen for times when he knew Casey would be asleep. Chuck had spoiled himself that first day, with the lack of manned surveillance.

Chuck pulled his attention back to Morgan and nearly had to ask him to repeat himself before he remembered;there actually was something bothering Casey, and, he grinned a little to himself, now seemed like a perfect opportunity to share the pain with Morgan as well. He veered just a little, taking them back on a parabola that would bring them into close proximity with the home theater room. "You remember what I said yesterday about Karma?"

"Uh-oh," Morgan tensed. "You're about to walk me into something aren't you?"

"Why, whatever do you mean, good buddy?" Chuck checked ahead, and the home theater room was still darkened, the door still unattended, and no sign of the errant Nerd Herders. Chuck frowned and checked his watch. Were they still going—he winced—don't think about what you saw. Don't!

"Okay Chuck, enough games. What's in the home theater room that you think is payback for yesterday." Chuck squeezed his eyes shut; if ever he could force a flash, now would be the time. Come on, Intersect, do your stuff! Images whirred past his eyes, fast, too fast to count, force diagrams and vector calculus equations, some of which he recognized from his days at Stanford. Chuck seized Morgan by the scruff of the neck with one hand, the door handle with the other, and threw his friend to the wolves. "What? Hey!" Morgan turned, spotted the pile of limbs on the sofa and spun back to try running for the hills. Chuck grabbed the door handle with both hands and tugged it shut. "No, no, no, no!" Morgan whimpered, tugging on the other side of the door.

Chuck held the door closed to a count of five, and then let him out. Morgan slumped against the glass wall, eyes hazy and unfocused. "Why, Chuck? I thought we were friends."

He squatted next to Morgan and patted him on the shoulder. "We are friends, Morgan. That's why I didn't take your keys and lock you in there with them."

Morgan whimpered, but then came back to himself a little. "I'm the assistant manager! I outrank you. Technically, I _could _fire you." Chuck laughed, and Morgan sighed. "Yeah, okay, fine. Well played."

"We're even from you making me deal with the PDA yesterday. And the 'commando incident' yesterday morning."

"Even? You call that even?" Morgan said, a desperate gleam in his eye. "Oh-ho no. They're still Nerd Herd, which means..."

Chuck felt a lurch of nausea. "Oh, no..."

"You have to go in there and explain to them what is and isn't appropriate workplace behavior."

Chuck closed his eyes and looked to the heavens. "Why me? I've lived a good life, haven't I? I don't steal, or key people's cars or any of that, right?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "A little theatrical, aren't you?"

"You saw what I saw," Chuck said.

Morgan smirked. "I had my eyes closed. But, yeah, I got the bare 'bones.'"

"Okay, we're not even any more," Chuck said, once he'd fought off the images again. "Flip you for it?"

Morgan frowned. "Okay, but no using your Dark Knight Two-Face collector's silver dollar."

Chuck fished a quarter out of his pocket and tossed it to his friend. "I'll call it."

Morgan spun the quarter across the backs of his fingers, and flicked it up in the air. Chuck felt his focus fine down to the spinning bit of metal, the flash coming, so soon after two others, would probably bring a crushing migraine, but he really didn't want to deal with it. Probabilities whipped through his head, aerodynamic profiles of all denominations of US coinage, from pennies all the way up to antique silver and gold double eagles, and a handful of thermodynamic equations. He could do the math himself easy enough, the equations just seemed to flow. It all crystallized in his head while the coin was still on the way up. And then he winced as a spike of pain throbbed through his temples.

Morgan was on his feet, "Dude, you alright?"

Chuck blinked half dozen times to clear his vision. "Yeah. Yeah, bud. I'm fine."

He brandished his hand where he'd slapped the coin down but hadn't looked at it yet. Morgan frowned and shrugged. "Call it."

Chuck grinned weakly. "Tails," he said, turned and started walking without waiting for Morgan to look.

He blinked down at the coin. "How the hell does he do that?" And then he realized he had to have a talk with Jeff and Nasty, and the mystery of Chuck's prowess at coin flipping was not going to help him.

* * *

Chuck got back to the Nerd Herd desk, only to find Lester waiting, probably about to start up again. God, he missed Sarah. He especially missed their old cover, when he could escape the Buy More, if only for a few minutes, for a 'yogurt break.' The store seemed to have gotten smaller while he was away, and now he could feel the walls closing in. Lester being Lester, Jeff actually having a girlfriend, and even Morgan to a much lesser extent, it was all pressing down on him. Chuck had the vague notion that he knew what it felt like to be drowning. When he stopped to examine the problem, completely ignoring anything coming out of Lester's mouth in the process, he realized what it was. Sarah. A huge piece of the shifting mess he called his life was missing, and without her, the load was unbalanced, ready to come crashing down at any minute.

He glanced at his watch again. Her flight should have been in early that morning, but he didn't know if he was supposed to expect her today — Friday — or tomorrow. Fifteen minutes had passed since his near-death experience in the home theater room. Glancing around, he saw Morgan approaching, looking decidedly green around the gills. That brought a hint of a grin to his lips. His mouth was halfway open, a quip developing, but before he could turn to Morgan with his fresh zinger, Lester smacked him. "Incoming, Bartowski."

He startled; actually paying attention to Lester was anathema to him today. "What?"

"Your ex-honey, at twelve o'clock."

Chuck grinned, scanning desperately, where, where? Sarah stood by the scanners at the entrance, doing her own scan, chewing her lower lip nervously. Her eyes brightened when she spotted him, and she started over immediately. Chuck darted around Morgan and Lester. He could feel Lester's eyes on his back, and Casey's eyes, and Morgan's. They were all expecting different things from the greeting. There was the 'hey, I haven't seen you in two days and want to ravage you like nobody's business' hug he wanted to give her himself. There was the 'we broke up but still have feelings for each other and are trying in vain to be friends' hug that Lester was looking for. Morgan probably didn't expect there even to be a hug, after that train-wreck of a story Chuck had told him when he fell asleep in Castle. And then, there was the 'we had a huge, nasty breakup in Prague when I wouldn't run away with you, and now, we have to work together and we're maybe getting back to being friends' hug that Casey needed to see. Somehow, all of those were supposed to be the same hug.

Making matters worse was his desire to throw her over his shoulder and sprint all the way to her hotel room so he could just talk to her again without having to filter. Okay, maybe there were a couple of ulterior motives in there as well, but... He'd gotten himself lost in thought and Sarah was grabbing his tie and pulling him in. At the last second, she seemed to realize the tie-pulling was usually a prelude to a kiss, not a hug, and she let go and shifted aside. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed him tight. Her lips brushed against his ear. "God, I missed you," She whispered before burying her face in his chest. Chuck used every ounce of his willpower not to kiss the top of her head, but the hug still went on a split second too long, before Chuck pulled away.

Casey was to the side, so he'd be able to see Chuck break the embrace. Lester was still loafing at the Nerd Herd counter, Morgan was back a ways, so their vision was blocked by the back of chuck's head. Sarah looked a little disappointed, but Chuck darted his eyes at Casey. God, this was complicated. All it needed was Awesome and Ellie walking in, and Awesome wanting to talk about how his brother, Delta Force commando extraordinary was talking about a certain Charles Carmichael with whom he'd worked a mission. Well okay, Devon would have enough sense to not bring it up at work, and at least Hannah had quit after their breakup and he didn't have to deal with what she might have to say about him hugging his 'other ex.' That complication would probably have been the straw that broke the camel's back. He could imagine himself going completely crazy, tearing off his tie and running around screaming at the top of his lungs. If he had to lay odds on it happening anyway, nobody would be betting on Bartowski to go the distance.

"Get down to Castle," Sarah said abruptly. Chuck didn't know what his problem was today. Likely it was just Casey and Sarah getting back. He wasn't used to having to split focus on his covers anymore, after that mission in Afghanistan. It had seemed simpler then, barely three days ago, in a combat zone with rogue Delta Force operatives out to kill him. "Let's go get Casey."

Chuck grabbed her wrist, "No, let's just go; Casey will figure it out. We're still barely civil, remember? Us going over to get Casey will just draw more attention from Lester and Morgan."

"God, this sucks." Sarah whispered, then wrenched her wrist free, only to link hands and drag Chuck toward the entrance. He heard Lester make a catcall at Sarah taking charge. Great, he'd have to put that fire out later.

He pulled his hand free reluctantly. "Hey, watch it with the hands. Morgan thinks you called the cops on me."

Sarah's eyes popped. "What? Why would I do that?"

"I fell asleep in Castle," Chuck explained, "And he got the wrong idea when I tried to spin a cover story for why I wasn't at work."

"Great," Sarah rolled her eyes, and neither spoke until they were safely out in the parking lot. Unless Casey had a parabolic microphone stuffed up under his shirt—something Chuck wouldn't put past him but would have looked decidedly odd—they were pretty safe to talk as they walked over to the Orange Orange. "Any good news?"

Chuck pulled the phone she'd sent him and showed it to her. "I worked on this thing last night, so I can loop the cameras any time I want. Just hit star and pound together, then 1 for Castle, or 0 for my place, then a number to select which loop I want running."

Sarah grinned and looped an arm around his waist. "Mmm... that's good to hear. Very tempting. _All_ the cameras? You trying to show me up? I spent two months trying to fix that problem and never got anywhere."

Chuck shrugged. "Well, you are dating the Nerd Herd Supervisor. You should have come to me with your computer emergency instead of trying to do everything yourself."

Sarah smiled happily and laid her head on his shoulder. "Fair enough, I'll take it under advisement." She only let her head rest there for a split-second before darting two steps away. Chuck arched an eyebrow, and Sarah let her hand trail across a rear-view mirror. He glanced in the mirror, and spotted Casey coming out the door of the Buy More. He shook his head, envious as ever of her situational awareness.

* * *

In castle, Chuck and Sarah sat on opposite sides of the table, which had become their habit ever since Chuck had come back from spy school. Sarah had a vague notion of putting her foot in Chuck's lap, but as daring as she felt now, after her talk with Carina, it was a Bad Idea. Like a lot of her Bad Ideas lately, they were getting more and more vehement in the ongoing struggle in her subconscious. One day, they would win, and she had to be sure their flight plans were completely foolproof before that happened. They were close, but she needed more time. Just a couple of weeks without a mission cropping up and she could be done. She still had to close on the house, and there was the matter of...

This particular Bad Idea got pushed right out of her head, however when Beckman and _Shaw_ popped onto the plasma screen. What the hell? Wasn't he supposed to be out on his... ear? With barely any preamble, the General began. "Agent Shaw has brought to our attention... well, it's a unique opportunity, and a unique assignment. Hidden in Ernst Henkle's data were references to a pair of potential Ring recruits, specializing in the import and sale of 'exotic' weaponry. Agents Bartowski and Walker, you will be impersonating this pair. Nikolai and Ekaterina Pensov were killed this morning in downtown L.A. The Pensovs had been working with us to take apart a group of smugglers, but they may have unintentionally brushed up against Ring interests in San Francisco. They were smart enough not to get killed on their initial contacts, but something must have changed, and now, they're dead.

"Why would they be working with us? The CIA?" Chuck asked, puzzled. "I mean, a lot of our targets are arms dealers."

Shaw fielded that one. "The 'smugglers,' as General Beckman calls them, are human traffickers, modern-day slavers, for lack of a better term. Ekaterina's sister, Elena, was kidnapped from her village in the Ukraine by these bastards. Nikolai and Ekaterina managed to retrieve her, relatively unharmed, although the how of it is anybody's guess. Much of their profits of late have been donated through proxies to groups dedicated to halting human trafficking. Their status as underworld figures allowed them to amass a startlingly large amount of data on a similarly large segment of the human trafficking groups operating in the United States. They were possibly killed to prevent them from making the drop."

Beckman shouldered back into the briefing. "Looking through the files now, there's a meeting on the books for the Pensovs with an unnamed contact in the Ring. They were supposed to 'sell' the data, and let their CIA handler put his hooks into the man.

"A neat operation, all in all. The only problem is they were murdered before they could make the handoff, as was their CIA contact, an Agent..." He checked a file folder. "Wallace."

"Frank Wallace?" Sarah asked, stunned.

"You know him?" Shaw, Chuck, and Beckman asked at the same time.

Sarah turned to the screen, answering Beckman. "We only met briefly. He was working out of the American Embassy in Venezuela when Bryce and I were undercover there. He helped with a couple of missions. I didn't know he was in L.A."

"No one did." Beckman said. "Apparently, his contacts with the Pensov's had been ongoing for several years." Wallace's picture went up on the plasma, pushing Beckman and Shaw to split-screen. Chuck flashed, and put a hand to his head, to massage his temple, from the fourth flash in the last half hour. He needed some aspirin. "Yes Agent Bartowski?"

"Okay, that's how Nikolai and Ekaterina got her sister away from the kidnappers: their relationship with Wallace goes back —went back— years. He helped them with intel and some satellite feeds of the place she was being held. It's how he turned them. They were his assets after that, codenamed Kingfisher and Mockingbird."

"I figured it was something like that. Did your flash have the Op. Code?" Shaw asked, but Chuck just shrugged. "Anyway, Agent Casey, we are currently keeping their deaths a closely guarded secret. You will go to their home in the Valley and locate the intel the Pensovs were gathering."

"Wouldn't whoever killed them have tried to get the data out of them?" Casey said, "Seems like enhanced interrogation is a Ring specialty. Shaw and I know first-hand. And I doubt slavers would be any better."

"Yes, Colonel. We're well aware," Beckman said. "However, given that there were no signs of torture on the bodies, it stands to reason, that the data did not get out, unless Nikolai had a copy on him. Either way, we still have moves here."

Shaw took over the explanation again. "Nikolai will probably have stashed at least one copy of the data at his home. It seems unlikely that anyone will go looking for it there, as besides Agent Wallace, no one knew their cover identities in the States. The address is in your mission brief, Colonel Casey."

"Agents Walker and Bartowski, the Pensovs' meeting with their Ring contact is in San Francisco in two days." Beckman paused for effect. "We'll alter the plan a little. Agents Walker and Bartowski will pose as Nikolai and Ekaterina, attend the meet, and hand over the data, but with a Trojan Horse installed, that will unpack and send the location IP address back to us any time the data is accessed or copied."

Casey grinned. "And then we wait a few days for it to trickle up the chain through the Ring hierarchy, and send in FBI HRT teams, local SWAT teams, NSA cleaners, everybody. We take down every Ring base on the West coast in one fell swoop."

Shaw spoke into the brief silence, trying to prove his importance maybe, Chuck thought. "Exactly, Colonel Casey. We may be on the eve of the greatest intelligence coup in United States history."

Beckman cleared her throat. "Should anything go wrong, Agent Walker, a sanction has been approved for the Ring contact, whoever they may be."

"Wait, we just kill them?" Chuck protested, "I thought they were supposed to take the Trojan Horse back to the Ring?"

"NCA* has deemed that the risk of exposure to the intersect is of higher priority than the potential gain of this mission. If you judge Agent Bartowski's safety to be compromised beyond your ability to protect him, Agent Walker: shoot first, ask questions later. If Bartowski is captured, it'll be in a densely populated area, so making use of my failsafe is untenable as a solution."

Casey grunted. "You have something to say Colonel?"

"No, General. Just nostalgic for the days you'd give me orders like that."

"Well, Colonel, hopefully you can recover the Pensovs' data and be in San Fransisco in time to make sure Walker and Bartowski have the actual data for the meet. The Ring will be able to sniff out a fake. Once you arrive, you too, can shoot first and ask questions later."

"Thank you General."

Chuck grunted. "What is it, Chuck?" Shaw asked.

"Just... we're supposed to be believable as a married couple?" Sarah glared at him for Casey, Shaw, and the General's benefit.

Beckman grunted sourly. "Yes, well... I expect Agent Walker to carry a lot of the weight in that regard. Just try not to openly scowl at her and you should be fine, Chuck. If there's nothing else?"

"Actually," Sarah said. "What if somebody recognizes that we're not the Pensovs?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "It's in the Intersect. And probably the mission briefs too. They had plastic surgery a few months ago. No pictures are on file of their new faces except the autopsy photos, which I assume we're keeping a tight lid on. And, they've been pretty much off-grid completely except for their contacts with Wallace after nearly being arrested by Interpol two years ago." Chuck seemed startled by his own words. "Hang on, we're posing as wanted fugitives? What if Interpol tries to arrest _us_?"

"They don't have jurisdiction." Casey said. "No charges are pending in the US that we're aware of. You'll be fine."

"If that's all, now?" Beckman said.

Chuck raised his hand. "Uh, actually, I do have one more thing if that's okay? No offense, Shaw, but I thought you were... you know..."

Shaw opened his mouth, but Beckman answered the question. "Agent Shaw's status is contingent upon this mission. It was he who found the encoded data on Ernst Henkle's thumb-drive. Our techs missed it. If this works, Shaw's an American Hero; we all are." She didn't bother explaining what would happen if they failed. "Now, anything else?" Silence. "Good. Walker, Bartowski, your flight leaves as soon as you get to LAX. Agent Casey, the rings, if you would." And she cut the feed.

"What should I tell Morgan?"

Casey grunted. "Nothing for now. You're off this weekend. When you get back, just say you were depressed because Walker dumped you, _again._ After that half-ass story you fed him yesterday morning, he'll believe it."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews to this point, and please keep them coming. They're like food for my writerly parts.

* * *

*National Command Authority, aka the President.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: We may be brushing up against the rating boundary in the next couple chapters due to Charah posing as a married couple mostly unsupervised. This will be in the form of innuendo and pillow-talk more than any actual 'on screen' hanky panky. Be advised, however, if somehow that isn't a place you wanted this story to go.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.

* * *

Chapter 17:

* * *

Casey wouldn't let him go home to pick up anything for the trip. "Morgan can't know about this."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "Sure, but what am I going to wear? I need clothes and I'm sure Sarah can't pose as an arms dealer in her Orange Orange tank top."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Walker, you want to field this one?"

"CIA will have our wardrobe waiting for us on the plane, sChuck," Sarah said. She blinked in surprise and looked away from him. He looked overwhelmed, and seeing the emotion in her eyes wasn't going to do him any favors in cover maintenance. It was getting difficult even for her, with all that training, all that practice, to keep everything separate in her mind. This time, she had almost slipped and called him sweetie. How the hell had that happened? Hopefully her consternation and self-reproach didn't show on her face. "We just need to grab all the counter-measure gear from the armory. Casey?"

"Yeah, I got it. I'll meet the happy couple at the Vic in ten?" Casey asked over his shoulder. Sarah nodded and led the way up out of the Orange Orange. There were actual customers waiting outside, despite the closed sign.

"Son of a—" Sarah growled and shoved Chuck back into the freezer. "I need to handle this; go help Casey."

"I thought we were going to talk before..." Chuck started, but made a sour face and trudged back downstairs. She was right, him popping out of the freezer in front of civilians would only complicate matters needlessly.

Sarah went over to let in her customers, putting on her standard veneer of 'friendly food-service worker.' Unlike most of her cover-work, it wasn't very convincing. "Sorry about the wait," she said through gritted teeth. "What can I get you?"

Her customer, a teenage boy who couldn't have been more than fourteen, grinned lasciviously. He had a couple of friends, toting skateboards and wandering eyes. "I'll take whatever you're giving."

"Yeah, light and creamy," another said. "That's how you like to serve it, right?"

Sarah lunged forward and grabbed the ringleader by the collar, pulling him right up nose to nose with her. The boy's feet left the ground due to the difference in their heights. "Listen you miserable little punks, if you want frozen yogurt, fine, but any more of your juvenile double-entendre bullshit and I'll shove those skateboard's so far up your—" Her phone rang, and Sarah cut off, giving the skate-punks the stink-eye. "Saved by the bell," she said, putting the phone to her ear. "Yeah?"

"Um, don't kill them," Chuck said. "You're super hot and they're fourteen. They shouldn't be held responsible for their actions."

Sarah smiled and turned away from the nimrods, hunched her shoulders to protect the phone from prying ears. She even cupped her hand over her mouth just to be _sure _her pubescent customers couldn't overhear. "Don't call me if it's not mission-relevant," she whispered. "Get me?"

"D'oops," Chuck said. "Just trying to be friendly." And he hung up. Sarah fought down a weird expression, half frown, half sheepish grin. It was good that Chuck could play along, remembering their 'not quite friends but trying' cover. At the same time, she really wished she hadn't had to mention it. Sarah wished the NSA trusted Chuck enough not to bug his phone. It would have made this whole farce unnecessary.

Sarah spun back to her customers. The trio jerked their eyes upward from their inspection of her posterior, but not quite all the way up to her face. She sighed and grabbed a stack of to go cups and resolved not to stab out their eyes with a spork. The things she did for love.

* * *

"Sarah, what's up with our IDs?" Chuck said in the car on the way to the airport, once she'd managed to herd the teenage skate-nuisances out of her yogurt shop. The CIA had a Gulfstream ready to take them to San Francisco. The flight was only going to be a little over forty minutes, which meant it was imperative they get things completely squared away before they left. "I thought we were supposed to be the Pensovs?"

"We're using their pre-established cover IDs as Nick and Caitlin Pendergast. That's who their contact in the Ring is expecting," Sarah said, leafing through her cover legend.

"Read up, Bartowski." Casey said, turning from the driver's seat. "You're newlyweds," He grunted a laugh. "I'm just glad I don't have to be there to hear you bitching about it. Seriously, whine much? Just 'cause Walker finally decided to be a professional."

Casey drove them right onto the tarmac and gave Chuck and Sarah a mocking wave as he drove off. "Hope the honeymoon works out for you!" he snarked.

Chuck and Sarah put on matching frowns until Casey rounded the corner and they were sure he couldn't see before letting mischievous grins split their faces and heading up the steps into the business jet hand-in-hand. Of course, they had to disengage couple-mode again once they went through the door, but anything was better than nothing. Sarah went into the bathroom to change into her mission clothes, a pair of black slacks and a red blouse with lace around the bodice. She frowned when she pulled it out of the overnight bag the CIA had packed for her, and pawed through the rest of the clothes. Red, orange, black, but not a single blue or purple. Then, she had another thought, and made sure... excellent. No granny panties, in case Chuck got lucky. Sarah grinned, she should have known better. When you let the CIA do your packing, you always get the black lacy ones. And, come to think of it; she rolled her eyes and continued her inspection only to find, of course, there wasn't a single pair that _wasn't_ a thong, though there were a couple of reds with matching bras and all of those were more lace than anything else. Typical CIA again; she'd have to have a chat with the DDO about that. How did they expect you to concentrate on the mission with your underwear riding up your crack and your bra about to spill the goods because it was too skimpy? This was why she preferred to dress herself.

The flight was relatively painless, after she got changed, although when Chuck came out in his well-tailored corduroy blazer and tight fitting t-shirt, her mouth went dry and she took an involuntary step forward before she could stop herself. Chuck and Sarah still had to keep their distance thanks to the NSA-provided pilot, who would doubtless be reporting back to Beckman exactly how frigid the atmosphere was between the 'newlyweds.' So would the Warrant Officer who offered them drinks, though she probably wouldn't know who she was reporting on, or who would be reading the report.

* * *

Sarah had three drinks, mostly due to nerves, glaring at Chuck in alternating smoky and icily withering looks, depending on whether anyone else was looking. The mixed signals would have driven him crazy if he hadn't known better. As it was, he found himself still looking over his cover, reading up on Nikolai's history as they began their descent into San Francisco.

For an arms dealer he seemed like a stand-up kind of a guy. The Intersect had all of the same data, but it was easier to parse through it with the file right there in front of him. He wouldn't need the Advil in his coat pocket either.

Though Nikolai had dealt weapons to a lot of shady people, he'd also been funneling weapons to Kurdish rebels in Iraq before the US invasion, who, technically he guessed, were the good guys, right? It was all kind of vague in the CIA reports, and he didn't want to ask Sarah and seem uninformed. The TV news shows could never really reconcile themselves on the matter either, which wasn't much help. He didn't know what to think about that...

And then he got to the bad stuff, specifically Agent Wallace's report on Nikolai's rescue of his sister-in-law. She hadn't been the only kidnapped woman who Nikolai had rescued. It was actually about a hundred and twenty in half a dozen cargo containers on a freighter in the North Sea. The man had gone in like the avenging spirit of Rambo himself, taking out almost two dozen armed men-the entire ship's crew- by himself and crippling the traffickers' operations for months. Chuck had to live up to that? Hopefully the Intersect wouldn't be glitching out on him this mission. Though with no Casey to complicate things, at least for a little while, a cover where he and Sarah had just gotten married sounded ideal.

"Okay, Chuck," Sarah said, void of all emotion. "As soon as we get off the plane, we're Nick and Caitlin Pendergast. We're going to have to sell it." Nobody except him could see the glint in her eyes as she spoke, or the hungry way she looked him up and down surreptitiously. Chuck managed to stammer some acceptable response, but later, he couldn't remember what it might have been.

They took a taxi from the airport, in an attempt to be inconspicuous, but Sarah spotted a tail before they were even so much as out of the taxi stand. She leaned in to nibble on Chuck's ear a little for the benefit of the Cabbie, and because she could. That was something she would never take for granted again. "White Chevrolet three cars back," she whispered. "Keep your mind on the mission."

"Be a lot easier if you weren't being so unnecessarily hot right now," Chuck whispered in her ear. She pulled back and grinned up at him through her lashes. Sarah bit her lip, thinking up an appropriate reply.

"So, how long are you two in town?" The driver said loudly, and annoyingly, stepped on Sarah's flirt before she could finish formulating it.

Sarah sighed into Chuck's neck before flopping back into her seat and crossing her arms. "A few days," she said grumpily and shot Chuck a glare. She knew she should have insisted on a limo so she could put up the privacy screen and get down to the business of melting Chuck's brains. Instead they had to deal with intrusive Johnny Cabguy, and pretend like they were married but arguing about the trip, just on the off chance that the Ring tried to extract information from their driver.

This was time she could have spent imagining she was married for real and about to have her way with her brown eyed curly haired... but then Chuck spoke up, and he was in full on Nick Pendergast mode. She would have been proud of him, except he didn't sound like Chuck, and she felt her pent-up hormones bleeding off with every word. He even managed the tiniest hint of a Russian accent, not enough to be really noticeable, but enough that when the Ring, or whoever, found the cab driver, the man might mention it in passing, or under torture.

"Yeah, we had to cut the honeymoon short," Chuck as Nick was saying. "Business meeting, real short notice. But it should be over quickly. Please babe, don't be mad."

Sarah rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as if going into a sulk, spot-on Caitlin Pendergast, deprived of honeymoon. Although, to be fair there wasn't a lot of acting involved. Sarah Walker deprived of her well-deserved Chuck-smooches looked much the same. The driver caught Chuck's eyes in the rear-view mirror and shrugged. He mouthed a 'sorry' that Nick-Chuck acknowledged with a shrug as he put an arm around her shoulders. Caitlin-Sarah felt herself relax into the gesture, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Her last thought before the warmth of Chuck under her cheek and the gentle vibrations of the car's engine lulled her to sleep was that she really shouldn't have drank so much on the plane.

* * *

Sarah woke with a start when the cab finally got through the worst of the rush-hour traffic and pulled up in front of their hotel. It was bad spy-craft falling asleep on a mission, but at the same time, it was good for her Caitlin Pendergast cover, and falling asleep on Chuck was something that happened _far_ too seldom. Still, she couldn't let herself get so carried away by the fantasy that she forgot why they were here: secret meetings, bad guys, hyperviolence lurking around every corner, and an intelligence coup in the making. She had to remember that. The layers of cover were a little much, even for a seasoned agent like Sarah, and she couldn't imagine how much the strain must be wearing on Chuck, pretending to be Nikolai pretending to be Nick Pendergast. When she remembered 'Chuck pretending to _not_ be hopelessly in love with her,' Sarah felt a lump of ice form in her stomach. He was probably close to the breaking point.

Chuck got out first and put out a hand to help her follow suit. He tipped the cab driver, to Sarah's mild annoyance. The man hadn't had the sense not to interrupt a make-out session in the back seat of his cab, and Chuck thought he deserved a tip? Then again, a man like Nick Pendergast, wholly fictional as he was, didn't need the attention that failing to tip would inevitably draw. Chuck grabbed their rolling luggage and led the way into the lobby. Sarah blinked and then made a point of doing a quick scan of the street for the white Chevrolet that had been following them as they left the airport. _Idiot move Walker, you can't afford mistakes._ But the Chevy was nowhere to be seen. Either their cabdriver had lost them, or their tail had been made up of professionals, two or more cars so that the quarry couldn't keep up with the shuffle. It was pretty much impossible to memorize _every _license plate you encountered. When you'd slept half the ride, you could delete the 'pretty much' from the sentiment.

Checking in as the Pendergasts got them a suite, which shouldn't have come as a surprise. Not the honeymoon suite, that would have been too much to hope for, but still, the view of San Francisco promised to be excellent. Or the view of the ceiling, if she played her cards right.

The bellboy who took their bags was openly drooling after her, and Chuck kept putting his arm around her and glaring at the young man, trying to mark his territory. It should have been annoying; she wouldn't have put up with that sort of thing from Bryce, but she found herself slipping an arm around his waist in turn, and resting her head on his shoulder. Sarah wondered idly what exactly had happened to her that she found his behavior endearing. Endearing! He was like some bizarre nerdy caveman, and she liked it? Okay caveman was a little strong; he was really only doing it for the mission, mostly to maintain his cover, a little bit, at least.

If the bellboy could just keep his eyes from falling down the front of her blouse for five seconds things would be different. The bellboy opened the door and gave them the grand tour of the suite. "So, here we are," he said grandly, arms spread and sweeping across as if showing them into the Taj Mahal or something. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the place; in fact it was pretty spectacular. A pair of white leather sofas formed an 'L' shape around a glass coffee table, and there was a plasma screen attached to the far wall across from them. Beyond it, Sarah could see into the bedroom, and the back wall let out onto a balcony. Through the French doors, she could see the skyline, and the Golden Gate bridge beyond, through one of the valleys formed by the city streets.

Their bellboy manhandled their bags into the bedroom, and then spent an interminable amount of time opening cupboards and waving at features. Sarah was tapping her foot impatiently, but he didn't seem to get the hint. When he finally finished his impromptu tour, the little twerp just stood around waiting for his tip.

Once he had greased the bellboy's palm with what she hoped was a one or a five and not one of the fifties and hundreds they'd given him as part of the cover, and the door was closed behind the little goomba, Chuck turned back to Sarah, opening his mouth. "Well, what do you say, Sar-unmph!"

The blonde hit him in a full body tackle with the force of a missile, lips crashing into his. The impact knocked him onto his back flat out on the floor. Sarah landed on his chest, legs splayed and straddling his hips. After a longer than strictly necessary moment, she pulled away, and pushed herself up so she was sitting astride him. Chuck opened his mouth again. "Not that I'm comp-" Sarah slapped a hand across his mouth, and shot a finger to her lips.

Sarah put her eyebrows up, mouthing the word 'bugs.' Chuck nodded under her hand once he recovered. "Come on," Sarah whispered, planting her hands on his chest and vaulting back to her feet. She stretched her hand out and braced herself, hoisting Chuck up onto his feet with a grunt of effort.

Chuck's arms went around her waist, pulling Sarah close. After a quick peck, Chuck buried his lips in her neck, keeping his voice low. "Well, Mrs. Pendergast we've got a few hours to kill before dinner. What do you say we break in the bed?"

"Time for that later. At least let me unpack first." Sarah said in a normal tone, breaking away and heading for her bag. Casey had packed them just about every piece of counter-surveillance tech from the armory that he could fit in a decent sized duffel, and Sarah made short work of the sweep. Once she swept the room for bugs, Sarah turned back to him. "There. All unpacked." Sarah tapped her ear once, then waved her hand in a gesture that said 'maybe,' before delving back into her overnight bags for another gadget.

"We still have to be the 'Pendergasts'?"

"Probably safest." Sarah said, putting the thermal scope to her eye and scanning the windows. Instantly, she hissed, and snapped her fingers at Chuck to get his attention. She put her finger to her lips again, and mimed writing on a pad and paper. Chuck found a small notepad on the nightstand with a pen attached, and tossed it to her.

**Laser microphone. No way to disable with current equipment, **

**or without tipping off surveillance team.**

Sarah tossed the notepad back before coming over and sitting on the bed next to Chuck.

**Do they have visual coverage on the room?**

Sarah shrugged, then cocked her head and made a grabbing motion for the pen.

**Not in the room, but maybe across the street. Either way, we're going to have to make love.**

Chuck took back the pen and tore a page off the notebook, grinning as he wrote.

**Oh darn... for real?**

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and Sarah rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm before taking back the pen.

**Simulated.**

Chuck's eyebrows threatened to climb right off his face.

**What the hell does that mean?**

Sarah's answer was a hastily written scrawl.

**Mostly naked Lap dance. **

**Or you on top, doing mostly naked **

**push-ups. I'm not picky.**

Chuck barely managed to hold in a whimper.

"So, you want to go out. Or—" Chuck began, hoping to forestall what would be absolute torture.

"Let's stay in," Sarah said and waggled her eyebrows at him.

This was such a bad idea.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: So, probably not quite as close to the T/M line this chapter as I thought, due to some judicious trimming at the end of the chapter.

Reviews, much like Ramen noodles and frozen burritos, are the fuel by which these chapters get written. Do your part to support the arts. I'm not even asking you to pledge $5 to PBS, just click the little green button down there. The next chapter is in the pipeline for tomorrow or Monday, depending on if I get bored or not.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: There's a teeny bit of Russian in this chapter. But you should be able to figure it out from context clues, and if not drop me a PM and I'll explain. Also, lots of innuendo Between Chuck and Sarah this chapter, so beware those who aren't into that kind of thing. And thanks as always to my beta, _daywalkr82, _for catching all my comma splices and split infinitives.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or any associated Characters, blah-de-blah...

* * *

Chapter 18: Morning After

* * *

Sarah woke up early the next morning, stretching languorously, and sighing in contentment. A girl could get used to nights like last night. It only could have been better if they'd been able to really make love instead of the pale imitation they'd been forced into for cover, or if they'd really been married, but both of those were in the far off, ill-defined future if at all. She rolled over in his arms to look at him, staring at him intently with an expression on her face that she knew would creep him out a little if Chuck woke up while she was watching him, but he was still sleeping soundly, lying on his side, facing her. Why he shouldn't still be asleep, she had no idea. Sarah blushed a little, remembering exactly why that might be. Even if they hadn't made love, she had definitely let him know in no uncertain terms that she would have preferred the real thing.. She contemplated slipping out of bed to brush her teeth; her morning breath was probably horrendous, and she needed to maintain a _little _bit of her air of mystery after... Sarah bit down hard on a fit of giggles. Secret Agents don't giggle.

But instead, she nuzzled up close to him, rolling him gently onto his back so that she could rest her head on his chest. As much as she enjoyed waking up with Chuck's arms around her, lying on top of him was her new favorite, reminding her as it did of their faux-mance the night before. Sarah took a long breath through her nose, finally letting out a deep sigh, being happier than she remembered in what seemed like forever. Listening to his heartbeat, Sarah tried to go back to sleep. For nearly a quarter of an hour she lay across him with her eyes closed, but to no avail. The feel of his bare skin against hers, the tickle of his chest hair against her breasts was too much distraction.

On a sudden impulse, she turned her head, kissing him square in the middle of the chest and sliding her hands up his side gently. Sarah grinned, figuring the perfect way to wake up her Chuck. As she kissed her way across his chest, she let her hands wander down to the boxers Chuck was still wearing from last night. Sarah caught her lower lip with her teeth for a moment as her fingers slid under the waistband. Then she worked her way down toward her objective, giving a sloppy kiss to his navel as she went.

"Marry me." The words jerked Sarah's head up from his belly in surprise and she locked eyes with Chuck, struck speechless for a moment, before her CIA training kicked back in. She darted her eyes to the window with the invisible dot of the laser microphone.

"We're already married, Nicky." Sarah said. She stressed the name slightly as her fingers played under the cotton of his boxers.

Chucks eyes widened in shock, though still a little hazy from sleep and what she was doing to him. He'd obviously forgotten about their cover in the moments between sleeping and full wakefulness. "I know, babe," Chuck said, resuming his 'Nick' accent. "Sometimes I just can't believe it though."

Sarah grinned evilly. "Well, maybe this will convince you." Sarah said, kissing his stomach and beginning to work her way south again.

Chuck grinned after a moment. "So is that a yes?"

Sarah glared up at him. "No talking at me when my mouth is full unless it's dirty talk, Nicky. You know the rules," she said, Russian accent prominent in her voice, and giving him a squeeze to punctuate. "It's distracting."

"Wouldn't want that."

"No, you wouldn't." Sarah/Caitlin said. "Now shut up and take it like a man."

"Oh god..." Chuck whimpered.

* * *

"Hmm," Sarah mumbled throatily, once she finished. "Seems like we're reaching a point of diminishing returns," she whispered as she dragged her breasts up the length of his torso before tucking herself back into the crook of his arm. Before he could recover his faculties sufficiently to come up with a response, Sarah reached over him and turned on the clock radio with a flick of her finger. Loud alternative rock started pounding from the speaker.

"If you have to ask me again after that, lil' Chuck can suck himself from now on," she whispered into his ear.

"Little?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Medium Chuck then."

"Because that makes it better."

"Can we talk about this later? My jaw is killing me."

"Are you okay." Chuck whispered, his voice full of concern.

"No, I'm fine, it was supposed to be a veiled compliment regarding size."

"Oh. Maybe a little less veil next time."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Wait, from now on?" Chuck said in an awestruck tone, but still low enough to be drowned out by the clock radio. Sarah blushed furiously. "And, anyway... I have a ground rules question I need to ask... on the subject of... reciprocation."

Sarah pulled away to fix him with a startled stare. "What... you mean...?"

"Of course." Chuck gave her the Bartowski eyebrow dance. "What do you take me for?"

Now, it was Sarah's turn to whimper. She really shouldn't have started something without thinking it through all the way. Another thought occurred to her, lying in her Chuck's arms.

"You realize if I officially say yes to a marriage proposal right now, we're _never_ going to be able to tell our children the story of how we got engaged? It might be a little... complicated."

"Oh, oh!" Chuck said, obviously not thinking that far ahead. "Then forget I said anything. But I thought it was supposed to be a surprise. Now, you'll be expecting it."

"Charles Bartowski, if you don't give me a proper proposal soon, I'll tell Ellie about this."

"You wouldn't dare," Chuck breathed, scandalized.

Sarah grinned smokily. "Didn't I just give you a lesson in 'things I will and won't do'? Talking to your sister about our sex life isn't even on the borderline right now. Go on, try me." She levered herself up to crawl over Chuck's lean frame. "I'll call her right now if you don't believe me."

Chuck grabbed Sarah around the waist, whirling and planting her back in the mattress, pinning her with his body.

"Oh, Nicky! Again?" She exclaimed loud enough to be picked up over the radio. "You're an animal!"

* * *

"God in Heaven," he said, pulling the earphones off his head with a groan of disgust. "They're at it again. Do we really have to watch this?"

"Orders, Walsh. They're arms dealers," his partner said, kicking the door shut behind her. She came over and set the cardboard tray of coffee down on the table next to the surveillance equipment. "And whatever they're in town for, it must be something big. Why else would SAC Cavanaugh send us?"

"FBI idea of a joke?" he said. Walsh turned on his stool to grab a Styrofoam cup.

"What, send out a coed surveillance team to watch arms dealers go at it like bunnies?" O'Bannon grinned and took a sip of her coffee. "That kind of thing? Leaving us with only the super-awkward conversation topics?"

"Yes. I can't wait until this meet goes down. What did our intel say, Sunday morning?" Walsh asked.

"Ha, not the only thing going down," she said, and brushed dark brown hair out of her face. "What, is she covered in chocolate? Ugh. I really didn't need that thought in my brain. Wait, what are we talking about?"

"That's the fourth time since they checked in." Walsh said.

"Huh. I understand they're newlyweds, but that's a little ridiculous," O'Bannon said, before her eyes widened. "Hey, wait a second, their cover is newlyweds. They aren't newlyweds," she went on.

"You're insane," Walsh said. "Are you watching the same surveillance I am?"

O'Bannon reached over to the box of papers on the chair next to her, found the Pendergast/Pensov file and flipped pages. "See, right here," she shoved the file in Walsh's face, and tapped a line of print. "They've been married for..."

"Ten freaking years," Walsh let out a low whistle, and glanced back at the continued activities on the thermal screen. "That's a ten year old marriage?"

"But you're right, they're definitely _acting_ like newlyweds," she said, then glanced at the thermal camera's screen herself, and blushed. "Super Newlyweds. Maybe they're just really in love."

"Or maybe they're acting like newlyweds because their cover is newlyweds."

"Crap," O'Bannon said. "You think they made our surveillance? How the hell did they make us?"

"Doesn't matter. We've got to call it in."

* * *

Sarah grabbed Chuck by the hair and pulled him away from his work, arching an eyebrow. "Did you hear that?"

"Sorry, sweetie," he said and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Situational awareness goes out the window when I'm... you know."

"Get dressed," Sarah grated. "Something's wrong."

"You sure?" Chuck said, glancing down, and Sarah snapped the waistband on his boxers to get him moving. "Ow!"

"Go," she said, grabbing the sheet from the bed and retrieving her S&W from the nightstand. She chambered a round and Chuck slipped into the bathroom with his bag to get dressed, which made Sarah roll her eyes. It's wasn't like his current outfit left much to the imagination, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen everything already, and up close and personal to boot. She blushed and grinned at that thought in equal measure. There was a knock at the door; Chuck turned back to say something, but Sarah shushed him and pointed to the bathroom.

She sidled up to the side of the door, so she could peer sideways at the peephole. From there, Sarah could see that the lens was clear, not dark, like it would be if someone was peeping through from outside, waiting on someone to step into position to get shot through the door. It was just standard procedure for a spy, before she looked through the peephole herself. A young woman in a hotel busboy's uniform was standing behind a rolling cart, with a pair of covered platters.

"Room service," The busgirl said when Sarah waited too long in silence.

"We didn't order any," Sarah said loudly, to carry through the door, before taking a quick step to the side that would keep her out of the potential line of fire.

"Um, actually, hon..." Chuck said from across the suite. "I figured we'd need to refuel." Sarah rolled her eyes fondly and stuffed the gun behind a potted plant next to the door, before tearing the door open.

"Nicky, get your wallet. I don't have any pockets in this thing." The woman rolling in their food stared in shock at Sarah, and she hiked the sheet up higher. She really hoped the busgirl wasn't an enemy agent. Fighting in little more than a sheet was really awkward. Although, she could use the sheet as a fairly effective defense weapon, wrapping up an opponent's arms, and then aiding in a subduing maneuver.

When the girl grabbed the lids of the platters, Sarah tensed, shifting her grip in preparation for spinning the sheet into a giant rat tail whip and tackling the other woman. Who just happened to be a pixie-sized brunette, which wasn't coloring her reactions at _all_.

But there wasn't a weapon under the platters, just bacon, eggs, biscuits and mixed fruits. Chuck gave the girl a fair-to-middling tip and nodded her out of the room. She sighed and sat down at the table. "Are you really that disappointed the busgirl wasn't an enemy agent for you to kill, baby?"

She frowned, and grabbed a serving fork. "I wouldn't have killed her. How could I interrogate her if I killed her, Nick?" Caitlin laughed, and it was different from Sarah's laugh, harsher. Chuck didn't like it, but he knew Nick was supposed to. "Honestly, sometimes I swear you think I'm a psycho killer. You're the one that killed twenty people on that freighter without batting an eye."

* * *

"Jesus, are you hearing this?" Walsh said. He yanked the cord of his earphones out of the jack so the audio would play to the whole room. "That's not in his FBI file."

"Hey, they were slavers," Nick Pendergast's voice came through the laser microphone. "Kidnapping girls off the street to sell into prostitution. They barely count as people, and they had your sister. You'd have done the same thing if you were there."

O'Bannon shrugged. "Well, can't say I'm going to disagree with him on that. What are they doing now?"

"Eating breakfast," Walsh said. "Although I never saw her put on clothes, so round five will probably be before they finish."

"Want to make it interesting?" O'Bannon said. "Twenty bucks says they're done for the morning?"

"Seriously? You want to bet on the marks' sex life?" He paused for a few moments in thought. "Make it fifty and you're on." Twenty minutes later, when Caitlin went in the shower, Walsh grinned and opened his mouth, but Nick just sat at the table reading the paper, then he showered alone once his wife was finished.

"Pay up, bitch," O'Bannon said, crossing her arms and grinning. Walsh grunted, and dug out his wallet.

* * *

Sarah was sitting cross-legged on the bed, already wearing a black dress with an orange blouse over it when Chuck came out of the shower. His hair was slicked back and drips of water still glistened on his chest. She had to tear her eyes away after a few seconds of ogling her boyfriend—fiancé? No she'd made him promise to try again so they'd have a suitable story for their currently hypothetical future children, so technically, not a fiancé... yet. That word nearly made her smile. (Ellie would probably appreciate not being exposed to the gory details as well.) "Get dressed, Nick," she said, mostly just to stop her thoughts from wandering. Sarah waved her phone. "I want to see the sights."

Chuck arched an eyebrow and grabbed the notepad they'd used to communicate illicitly the night before.

**Casey?**

Sarah nodded, and Chuck gave a thumbs-up before stooping for his overnight bag. He nearly lost the towel and Sarah closed her eyes and slumped onto her back so she wouldn't be tempted. She couldn't help but sigh. Last night—this morning for that matter—had been a mistake; they'd crossed the line they'd set for themselves, or at least pushed it back considerably. She couldn't make herself regret the decision, but at the same time, looking at matters objectively, it was going to complicate their multiple covers beyond saving. More likely than not, they would give themselves away with goofy grins, and the giddy feeling she still felt herself fighting before the week was out.

While Chuck was getting dressed, Sarah kept her eyes closed, working through the plan, making the assumption that she had to move her timetable up considerably.

Chuck came back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You awake?" he whispered, and Sarah's eyes sprang open. "Yah!" Chuck shouted in surprise, and fell over off the bed with a thump. Sarah jumped up and skirted around the bed to check on him.

"Oh my God, baby," she said. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, you just startled me. Let's go."

* * *

"They're moving," he said. "Do we have anyone covering the street?"

"Shit. No, it's just us until noon. Hoof it, Walsh," O'Bannon said, grabbing her gun from the coffee table and heading for the door. In the elevator, the FBI agents put in their radio earpieces. O'Bannon rooted her cell phone out, and called their supervisor.

"Cavanaugh," the SAC of the San Francisco field office answered his phone on the second ring.

"This is O'Bannon; subjects on the move. Possible they made our surveillance."

She could practically hear him scowling through the phone. "Evidence?"

"None directly. The thermal camera showed them amorously involved more often than we would expect from a couple that's been married for ten years, but their cover is newlyweds so..."

"Tail them, but be discrete. Our intel says the meet isn't until tomorrow, but I'd prefer not to bet on that. If you lose them, they could hit their meet and be out of the city before we can move on them. I'm scrambling a team to your location to help out. We're getting some NSA hotshot too."

"NSA?" O'Bannon said. "What does NSA want with our subjects?"

"They have information the NSA wants, other than that, we don't need to know."

"Seriously?"

"Let me rephrase," Cavanaugh grumbled. "_You_ don't need to know. He's a Marine Lieutenant Colonel: scary service record, even just the non-classified parts. Marine Force Recon Scout Sniper, fifty six confirmed sniper kills before he joined the NSA in 89. Three possibles in his last three re-certification trials. Comes direct from DNI for this operation. John Casey. Supposed to be an expert in surveillance and counter-surveillance as well, should be helpful. _He _has 'need to know.'"

"When's he get here?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes." Cavanaugh said. "He's driving in from the airport as we speak."

"Oh, great." The doors opened on the lobby and they started for the entrance. "Anything else, sir?" There was no answer, and O'Bannon looked at the screen of her phone. She tsked.

"He hung up on you?"

"Yes. I hate that."

"I see them. Let's stay back a ways," Walsh shrugged. "Blondie's kind of hard to miss."

* * *

"I see them." Sarah said, leaning in so she could whisper in Chuck's ear. "Half a block back, man and woman team. Brunette and kind of a pudgy guy on the other side of the street. Don't look," she hissed, half scandalized. "You know better than that. Oh, but of course, I said the magic word. 'Brunette.'"

"God, S—Caitlin, relax, there's some kind of agents tailing us. Of course I'm going to be curious, she could be horribly scarred and I'd still have to look so I could recognize them, if we get separated or something."

Sarah rolled her eyes and dragged him into the first coffee shop they passed. "Casey said he'd meet us, but first..."

"We've got to lose whoever that is," Chuck said, finishing her sentence. "Plan?"

She grinned. "Always. Okay, go to the bathroom, if there's a window slip out the back, and head for fisherman's wharf or someplace touristy. I'll meet you once I've lost them."

"How will you find me?" Chuck asked, to which Sarah rolled her eyes and tapped his watch. "Oh right, duh."

Chuck took the opportunity to give her a lingering kiss before they split up. Sarah bought two iced coffees and sat in the front picture window at a table for two. She sipped and watched pedestrians until she could find the two agents, sitting at another cafe across the street. Then, she waved at them.

* * *

"Hubby's been gone a long time," O'Bannon said. "Crap. Did she just wave at us?"

"Yes, damn it. Yes she did," Walsh growled. "Screw it. I'm going overt." He pulled out a pair of miniature binoculars and scanned the coffee house where the subject was... waving again, and pointing at a second coffee cup sitting across from her.

"What?" O'Bannon said, once he lowered his binoculars.

"Apparently she wants to talk."

"How far away is our backup? Ten more minutes? She's trying to get us to split up, give Hubby more time to get clear, and give herself an easier escape."

"Okay, yeah," Walsh said. "Sure. But where does that leave us? We're not authorized to meet with our subject."

"I'll do it if you're chicken," O'Bannon said. She glanced at her partner, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"I'll stick around for over-watch."

"What about hubby?"

"You think Cavanaugh would prefer we lost both of them, or just one?" Walsh shrugged. "They're obviously going to meet up again at some point, so if we stick to one of them we'll eventually nab both."

* * *

Sarah was surprised at the woman coming into the coffee shop after her. She smiled a little, in spite of herself, glad she wouldn't have to flirt with whatever kind of pervert the male agent was. In her experience, all men were some kind of pervert, even Chuck, when she let herself think about it. Just, she didn't mind it from him _at all,_ and if circumstances were different, and she had her way, Sarah was fairly certain she would be actively not minding at _least_ once a night for the rest of her life. Women were easier to deal with emotionally, but not from a tradecraft perspective. This should be interesting, to say the least.

"So, Caitlin. Or should I call you Ekaterina?"

"It is all the same to me; you can call me Jojo the dog-faced boy if you want."

"You're funny. I didn't expect that," The agent said as she sat down. The brunette carried herself with the self assurance and poise of either a dancer or a highly trained fighter. She was well armed, with a pistol in a shoulder holster, and at least one more in the small of her back. Sarah could make out that much, from her movements, but she still didn't know exactly who she was dealing with. The woman could be Fulcrum or Ring, or just a mercenary working for someone the Pensovs had pissed off at some point in their careers. "Where'd your husband run off to?"

"I am really going to tell you this?" Sarah said, as Ekaterina, her fake St. Petersburg accent dominant. "I am such a fool as that?"

"Well, you bought me coffee. I figured it was a prelude to something."

"It was," Ekaterina said. "You have audio recording of me and husband. I would like to purchase it."

"Wow. I... I really did not expect that," the woman said, taking a sip of her coffee. "And we've got more than audio. There's a thermal camera trained on your bedroom window."

Sarah's jaw fell open and her cheeks went absolutely crimson. She dropped her head into her hand to hide the blush and just managed to remember to keep up her cover. "Yob mne!" Ekaterina groaned.

The woman across from her grinned. "Isn't that what got you into this mess?"

Sarah's responding glare could have punched through inch-thick tempered steel, but it didn't seem to have any effect on the brunette skank. She mastered the urge to punch her throat out through the back of her face and said, quite civilly, considering the circumstances, "How much to buy the recording?"

"Do you know who I work for?"

"I could not care less," Sarah said, as Ekaterina. "You will not dare to shoot me in a public place even if you are CIA or SVR. Money is no object. I do not want your superiors to get their rocks off watching... this is the phrase yes? There is entire internet full of pornography out there for whatever group of old men gives you your orders. I did not mean to add to it."

"How did you make our surveillance? You knew about the audio. How?" The woman said, obviously trying to change the subject.

Sarah shrugged and allowed it. "Infra-red dot from your laser microphone. I notice when I scan for bugs. Routine. I don't tell my husband; he would only become violent. But, I am glad you come instead of the man. Men always try to get into my pants, like I am part of sale." She rolled her eyes and gestured dismissively.

"You're not what I expected."

"So you say three times. I do not need answer now. Think about it, and name your price."

"And how will I contact you?"

Sarah smiled and took a large sip of her coffee. The woman mimicked her. Monkey see monkey do. "You won't. I will contact you."

"You mind telling me how?"

Sarah's grin widened and she checked her watch. "I have my friend at Interpol run the prints from your coffee cup, once you are unconscious."

"Uncon— what..." The woman shuddered and looked down at the cup. "What are— drugged my coffee...?"

"Indeed." Ekaterina said, and took a sip of her own coffee. The woman agent slumped in her chair, Sarah grinning like a cat as she went down. That had worked almost perfectly. Only problem was the woman's partner was still watching instead of trying to track down Chuck when he was already in a taxi headed across-town. Sarah snatched her knife out of her purse and flicked the blade out, bent down under the table, grabbed the woman's foot and pried the sole of her dress shoe up, (flats, of course, whoever she worked for being a damn sight more practical than the CIA and their obsession with stiletto heels) stuffed the GPS chip into the gap and pressed it back down. Then, she grabbed the plastic bag from the hotel gift shop and stuffed the female agent's empty coffee cup into it. She was careful only to handle the rim. The male agent was already crossing the street, gun out, when Sarah stuffed her spoils into her purse and made for the ladies room.

* * *

"Shit," Walsh said, pulling his gun as he burst out of the cafe into the street. He nearly got plowed under by a family in a minivan, but still got to the coffee house seconds after the blond bitch disappeared in the back. He paused long enough to check O'Bannon for a pulse, breathed a sigh of relief, and headed for the bathroom.

"Hey, you can't go in there." Walsh held out his credentials and kicked in the ladies' room door.

"Shit," He said again, stooping to look under the stalls. No feet. Of course not, blondie knew what she was doing. Walsh grunted, stood up straight, and kicked in the first stall. Empty. There was a puff of air, and a stinging pain in his neck. He slapped a hand over the pain and his fingers came out with a tiny dart. "The fu—" There was another puff of air, another pain, but he couldn't really make himself care at the moment. Darkness took him.

Sarah stepped down off the toilet in the second stall, tucking away her tranq gun. She swung the door open and bent to scoop up the man's gun, flipped the safety on and tucked the Glock 19 away. Then she dipped briefly into the man's coat pocket, looking for ID. "Shit," she said when she spotted the badge. "FBI? Damn it," She took agent Walsh's service weapon back out and wiped it down, before dropping it at his feet. "This is going to complicate things."

She dipped into her purse again for her iPhone, put in her biometric passkey and loaded her ChuckDar GPS app, which would plot her directions to him off Google maps and... He was still in the damn coffee house. Sarah snarled under her breath like a jungle cat and stormed out of the ladies room. Everyone was staring at her, which just made her madder as she kicked the open men's room door.

"It's me." She growled, still in her Russian accent. "Get out here, Nicky. It's time to go."

Chuck poked his head out of the top of one of the stalls. "There wasn't a window," he explained.

"You figured out how to hack a CIA database two days ago," Sarah growled, not sure whether she should be angry or shocked. "And you couldn't bypass the fire alarm on the emergency exit?"

"Oh. Right," Chuck said, and shrugged. "I didn't think of that."

Sarah sighed heavily. "Come on. Their backup should be on scene soon."

Chuck and Sarah flagged down a cab, with Sarah shoving the driver a hundred dollar bill through the window and saying simply, "Drive. Do not turn on the meter."

"Hey, I'll get fined if the meter doesn't match up to the odometer."

Sarah sighed and snapped her fingers at Chuck, rubbing her fingers together. He pulled his wallet out with a grunt and plucked out a twenty. Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed every bill out of it, and stuffed the wad of cash up to the driver.

"Sure thing lady. Where to?"

"Just drive," Sarah said in Caitlin's gently-accented English. "I will tell you when to stop. Turn left up ahead." After several twists and turns, Sarah grunted. "Here is good. You never saw us."

"Hey, I don't want no trouble with the cops."

Sarah flashed Agent Walsh's credentials, with her thumb over the portrait. "Keep your mouth shut and you won't."

Once the cab was safely away, Sarah shook herself. "Ugh. And I wanted to go do touristy stuff today," she said sadly. "Come on." Sarah dragged him into a public bathroom, shoved him into a stall and whipped out her phone.

She waited for the secure line to synch up, keeping her phone a couple inches from her ear to avoid the white noise. "General, it's Walker," she said simply, and put her on speakerphone while she motioned for Chuck to keep quiet.

"The FBI is investigating the Pensovs. They have a surveillance team sitting on your hotel room right now. Possibly thermal imaging." Chuck's face contorted in surprise and he blushed, but kept his mouth shut.

"We figured as much, but I played a little too well for the cameras," Sarah said. "They twigged to the fact that I'd made them."

Beckman grunted. "Are you why the surveillance team won't report in?"

"They're in a coffee shop on 14th, unless one of the patrons called them an ambulance by now. I had to tranq them both. I tried to buy the tape back from the female agent, so we'll at least know if she's dirty."

"That is hardly our highest priority," Beckman paused. "Just how... 'convincing' was your performance, Agent Walker?" Sarah blushed.

"I think even the Asset was convinced," She winced and mouthed a 'sorry' at Chuck, pointing at the phone. Chuck smiled broadly and winked. She shivered at the memory.

"Is Agent Bartowski going to be a problem?"

"Nothing I can't handle, General." Chuck smirked and arched an eyebrow at her choice of words, and Sarah smacked him. "But FBI involvement puts Chuck's secret at risk," Sarah said, in a hoarse whisper that barely carried to Chuck's ears. "What are our new orders? I'm putting you on speakerphone, General. Chuck just walked in."

"Your orders remain the same. Go through with the meeting. I'll have more information on your escape routes this evening. Colonel Casey is already integrating himself with the FBI team, and will relay any holes in the FBI curtain at the meeting site to you. We've set up a dead drop. He left the data with the Trojan Horse for the Ring in a standard magnetic container under the third park bench northeast of the fountain in Huntington Park. You'll need to make the pickup before returning to your hotel. In the meantime, the work you've done in keeping your cover has been exemplary. The FBI surveillance team is convinced you are quite happily married. Your professionalism in this matter is being noted, Agents Walker and Bartowski. Are there any questions?"

"What? Why would we go back there? The FBI will be waiting for us."

"Exactly," Beckman said. "Your miraculous escape from the FBI later will help to convince the Ring agent that the information is genuine. We need them to be able to follow you to the meeting."

Sarah frowned. "No offense ma'am, but do you remember the old saying 'Too many cooks spoil the broth'? It's a needless complication."

"Agent Shaw, DDO Myers, and I all disagree," Beckman said. "Your objection will go on the record. Any other concerns?"

"I have one," Chuck said. "Why don't we just tell the FBI what we're doing? It just seems like—"

"The FBI does not need to know," Beckman interrupted angrily. "That is all." And she disconnected.

"What was _that_ about?" Chuck said.

Sarah put a finger to her lips, and then opened the back of her phone and pulled the battery. "Okay, now we're safe for sure. I doubt Beckman would set up a back-trace recording off my phone, but better safe than sorry. The reason we can't tell the FBI is that CIA isn't supposed to be running undercover operations on US soil. Our remit is extra-national, and NSA doesn't have operational authorization at all. Strictly speaking, this is a counter-terrorism operation, and the FBI should be lead agency."

"Buh-wha?" Chuck said, and pretended to clear earwax out of his ear. "What have we been doing for the last three years?"

"Exigent circumstances. There's a provision in the laws where we can take 'all necessary measures' to keep beyond Top Secret intelligence sources protected. CIA loves it when people say things like that. All necessary measures leaves the door open for a hell of a lot of leeway. Even explaining to the FBI what intelligence source we're protecting would put that source at risk, so technically, it could be illegal to tell them. You'd need some kind of constitutional law expert to be sure."

"That source being me," Chuck said. "Except all the information was in the case files too."

"Like I said. It's a loophole."

"The CIA and the NSA are using me as a hunting license," Chuck said. The realization was crushing. "I... this whole time, I've been the reason you've been put on so many missions?" Chuck scratched his head. "And you're still talking to me? Much less doing the... other... stuff?"

Sarah blushed and smiled at the same time. "We're not being watched or recorded right now, Chuck. You don't have to beat around the bush."

"No I don't, but it's..."

"Are you embarrassed by what we did? Do you regret it?"

"Of course not. Don't be silly."

"Then why can't you say it? Just between you, me, and the unisex bathroom?"

"I love you, Sarah. And as such, I find it difficult to talk about the things you do to me in the bedroom, even _to_ you."

Her lips quirked up in a half smile. "Come on, say it," Sarah bit her bottom lip and eyed him saucily.

"I love you. No dirty talk."

Sarah pouted for a moment before her expression bounced the other way, and she smirked at him. She gave him a wink. "We'll see how long that lasts."

"You think Beckman's seen the tape?" Chuck said in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

It worked. Her eyes widened. "God, I hope not. If she sees it, Beckman won't have any doubt at a couple of parts on the tape that I wasn't... performing. If that FBI woman won't sell me the tape we'll have to actually steal it."

"And how do we go about doing that?" Chuck asked.

"I stuck a GPS in her shoe, it should give us the address of the hotel where they set up surveillance. You up for a little side mission, baby?"

"Our life is never going to be simple, is it?" He sighed.

Sarah smirked. "Oh, don't tell me you don't love the adventure."

"That's _you!_" Chuck protested. "I'm fine getting my adventure from my Xbox."

"Are you fine getting your... 'other stuff'... from your Xbox?" She smacked him on the ass. "Let's go."

"We've only been doing super naughty things to each other for a few hours, and you're already threatening to cut me off?" Chuck asked. "Maybe we're moving too fast. That stage in a relationship doesn't usually hit until a year or two in."

"Well, _now_ I'm going to do more than threaten," Sarah said.

"Probably for the best," Chuck said. "I think I had a heart attack last night."

"Just the one?" Sarah said with a smirk. "I'll have to work harder." Chuck clutched at his chest and staggered back against the wall of the bathroom stall, gasping theatrically. "Nice try, buster," she said, somehow managing to stalk toward him in the confined place, her hands going to his belt. "You have insulted my prowess, and you must be punished."

"Ah, ah." Chuck said, pulling her hands away. "Not so fast, missy."

"Missy?" She mouthed silently.

"Remember?" Chuck wagged a finger in her face, and put his eyebrows through their signature dance steps. He shifted the wagging finger, brushed her blond hair out of her face and leaned in. "Reciprocation. I never got to finish before." Sarah's eyes widened as his free hand slid up under her skirt.

"Oh, Chuck me..." Sarah breathed, and shivered at his touch.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: So, this mission is going to get even more complicated next chapter, if you can get behind that.

Thanks for the great reviews to the last chapter, and please keep them coming. Chapter 19 will be arriving as schedule Fri/Sat.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: I forgot to mention before starting this arc, as my beta _daywalkr82 _remarked when he first read the preceding chapters, and _grayden 13 _mentioned in a review I can't reply to: yes, this part of the story is in homage to the NCIS episode _Under Covers_, where the UST couple of _that_ show poses as married assassins and has to pretend to have sex under FBI thermal surveillance. Or were they really _pretending_? I thought it was funny then, and I think it's funny now. That being said, it doesn't follow exactly. I still have a couple surprises in store even if you've seen that episode.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. Season 3 would have been much less depressing if I did, as you might already have guessed, being 19 chapters into this story.

* * *

Chapter 19:

Sarah was smiling broadly as they hailed a taxi. Chuck had a touch of a smug grin, but he couldn't help it, and she certainly didn't begrudge him that much. Sure, the FBI thought they were arms dealers, and by now, there was probably a manhunt on for them or something, but they were together, and they didn't have to pretend differently for Casey or any of the freaks at the Buy More. Sarah gave the driver the address of the park and snuggled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder and looping her arm around his waist to hold him tighter against her. She let out a contented sigh, but it seemed like she couldn't sit still. After only a few minutes of cuddling next to her boyfriend, Sarah lifted her head and pressed her lips to his ear. She shielded her mouth with her hand as if telling a secret. "I love you, Chuck."

Chuck beamed at her and gave her a brief kiss, but when he tried to pull away, she grabbed his shirt and held onto him for all she was worth. Sarah deepened the kiss and Chuck groaned. It took a while, distracted as she was, but Sarah eventually realized the car had come to a stop. She wasn't exactly sure how long ago that had happened. Sarah's eyes drifted to the driver's face in the rearview, where he was staring with an entirely inappropriate expression on his face. She contemplated putting a throwing knife through the mirror as an abject lesson on peeping, but the rational part of her brain put up the 'Bad Idea' flag—assault with a deadly weapon would attract too much attention—and she pulled away from Chuck's lips reluctantly. Sarah cleared her throat. "Yes?" she said, arching an eyebrow.

The cab driver coughed into his hand. "Uh, right. We're where you wanted to go. The park? I didn't want to, uh... interrupt."

Sarah blushed slightly and scooted across to the door to let herself out. Across the park, she could see the gothic-style cathedral rising up. A smile found its way onto her face. Was that a sign? She'd never really let herself think about it, but Sarah wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of a church wedding. But now that she _was _thinking about it, she bit her lip. Was there room in the plan for a church wedding? Grace Cathedral looked particularly inviting, but Catholic priests were notoriously choosy about whose marriages they officiated. She might be able to use her CIA credentials to grease the wheels. She could say it was a matter of National Security. It probably wouldn't fly, but it was worth a shot—except that that would compromise their cover like nobody's business. Still, she had wedding on the brain now.

Chuck went to pay the driver, and had his wallet out and everything before he realized their last taxi ride had cleaned him out. Chuck turned to her with a worried frown. "Hey, psst! Uh, honey? Do you have any cash?"

She shook herself out of her daydream, strode over and paid the driver. Sarah grabbed his hand and placed his arm firmly around her shoulders. Chuck grinned, and she sighed softly. "Back to work," she said and started for one of the park benches. Sarah hadn't let go of his hand, and so he was forced to walk along with her, not that he minded, of course. Her lip curled in a smirk, and Sarah's free hand went down, her fingers tucking themselves into his back pocket while she leaned into him. Chuck kissed the top of her head. Now this was more like it.

Sarah led the way past the fountain toward Sacramento street. The cathedral loomed over them as they walked northwest. She still hadn't figured out exactly how she was going to pull off getting married to Chuck at the cathedral, but she was deep into planning. "Now that's a weird fountain," Chuck said.

"What do you mean?" Sarah said, pulling her head from it's resting place reluctantly. She glanced at the fountain with its fairly standard statuary.

"It's four naked guys stomping on the heads of fish that shoot water into the fountain. That's not odd to you?" Chuck said, frowning.

Sarah laughed softly. "I keep forgetting you've never been to Europe. I'll take you to Versailles if we ever get to Paris. The fountains there make this one look tame," Sarah said, and then let out a reluctant sigh. "Okay, we're almost at the bench. Time to uncouple."

"Grumble grumble," he said the actual words. "I guess you're the lead spy-boss... 3, 2, 1... uncouple," Chuck took his arm from around her shoulders, but Sarah didn't take her hand out of the back pocket of Chuck's jeans; instead she gave him a squeeze. He raised an eyebrow and she pouted.

"Okay, I mean it this time," she said. After a few more seconds, when she hadn't made any sign of removing her hand, Chuck glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"We're almost to the bench," he said. "That _is _the one with the... thing. Right?"

Sarah sighed, tore her hand out of his back pocket and shoved herself out to arm's length. Then she stuck her tongue out at him. "Can't a girl feel up her boyfriend in this town without getting the third degree?"

Chuck grinned. "Five minutes work, and then you can feel me up all you want."

Sarah bit her lip. "You promise? We might be at it a while; you sure?"

"I think I could suffer through," Chuck said, grin widening, finally able to toss that one back in her face.

Sarah grabbed him by the collar and pulled Chuck down for a quick kiss that stretched on longer than she intended. At last she pulled away, after only a couple of seconds, but still, it was supposed to have been a peck. "Is this going to be a problem?" Chuck said. "We're never going to get any missions done at this rate," he said with another peck that drew out into a full-blown smooch.

Sarah pulled away first this time. "Mind reader," Sarah said. "I just... can't... seem... to help... myself," she went on between kisses.

"We're making a spectacle of ourselves," Chuck said and pressed his forehead against hers to forestall another kissing fit.

"I know," she said, frowning. "But I kind of want to make up for lost time."

"Only kind of?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to get into a semantic argument with you, sweetie."

"Yeah, you're trying to put me into a make-out coma," Chuck said. "We need a new pact? No smoochies 'til the work is done?"

"Good idea," she said and tugged him into another kiss, slow and tender, without the frantic feeling of the earlier kisses. It stretched on, both Chuck and Sarah losing themselves in the feeling for a moment before they came apart. "Starting now."

Chuck put his hand up with pinky extended. Sarah laughed and linked her pinky with his. "Pinky-swear."

"Okay," Sarah said, and put on a mockery of her usual stern Secret-Agent mask. "Let's go to work."

"Pineapple," Chuck said. "You know how I get when you boss me around."

"Hey, buster," she said, and poked him in the chest. "We _just_ did a pinky-swear, and you deserve to know up front: I take my vows seriously," Sarah said. "No more funny business until the mission is _over. _Your idea, remember? So, c'mon."

* * *

Sarah led the way to the bench and sat gracefully. She did everything gracefully, but Chuck was hyper-aware of it now, given the huge differential between their normal levels of coordination. Sure, once he flashed, he could dodge moving laser grids better than just about anybody, but just that morning he'd fallen off the bed and nearly hurt himself because she'd opened her eyes too suddenly. Chuck scanned the park for suspicious activity, not really sure what that might be, and already thinking maybe he shouldn't be borrowing trouble. If he flashed on someone from some unrelated plot or something, an already horribly complicated situation could get... more... complicated. He couldn't come up with the right word for how complicated things could get with one errant flash. Uber-complicated didn't seem to do it justice. Mega-complicated sounded too valley-girl. "Okay," Sarah said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"What?" he said with a frown. "You're done?"

She waved a small metallic canister in his face. "Come on, we should make ourselves scarce for a while before we go back to the hotel."

Chuck frowned. "About that... I know Beckman said we should, but it just seems weird. Isn't the FBI going to go through the room? They'll find all our gear and stuff. Won't they figure out we're not who we said we are? And we don't even have the location for the meeting yet."

Sarah shrugged, slipped the canister into her purse, and ducked so she could get his arm around her shoulders again. "Beckman's working on that. Or Shaw; at any rate, somebody will text us the meet location," she pursed her lips. "You're right though. I'd much rather get another hotel room, where there wasn't any FBI surveillance."

Chuck grinned. "You and me both," he said, and tightened his arm around her shoulders. Sarah shrugged awkwardly.

"Hey," she said, "mission's not over. No funny business."

"I thought you got the data, so we're off the clock now, right?" Chuck said.

"Uh-uh," Sarah shot back. "Only one way is this going to work. The mission isn't over until we're back in Burbank with the doors and window locked, the cameras looped and the blinds drawn. And even then I need to make sure your escape plan is finished before... anything can happen."

"Anything?" Chuck said, waggling his eyebrows. Sarah punched him playfully in the arm.

"We need to talk, and not just about the mission," she said, "but not out in the open. Too easy to bug. A parabolic microphone in one of the buildings or up on the roof of the cathedral... anybody at all could be listening."

"Aren't you getting a little paranoid," Chuck murmured. "That's kind of crazy."

"No, it's a lot crazy, which is why we need to talk," Sarah sighed. "Carina isn't usually who I'd prefer to go to for relationship advice, but she's who I had."

"Wait, you told Carina about our Secret Relationship? What happened to not telling _any_one?"

"Don't be mad," she said, and then went on in a half whisper. "Please don't be mad. Come on, I don't want to do this where people could overhear us." Sarah grabbed his hand and dragged him in the direction of the cathedral of all places.

"Where are we going?" Chuck asked in confusion. Sarah pointed, which hardly helped. "Sarah, it's fine; can't we just talk here?"

Sarah shook her head and scanned for traffic, before dragging him across Taylor Street and up the steps. "Come on, Sarah, talk to me," Chuck said once the heavy door closed behind her.

She put her finger to her lips and grabbed a pamphlet from the stack by the door. "Shh... this is a church. Keep your voice down."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "What's going on?" he whispered, but Sarah was still playing mysterious. She dragged him to one side, straight up the aisle to the confessional. She yanked open one of the doors and shoved him in unceremoniously, and then slipped into the other herself.

"Sit down, let's talk."

"Sarah this is crazy. What if the priest—"

In the dimness, he could only make out shadows of her face through the screen, but she was waving the pamphlet. "No confession today. We're safe. No police agency in the world bugs confessionals. I'm not sure the Ring would even stoop so low. It was the first place that popped into my head."

"Lord," Chuck said.

"Hey! Quit that, especially here," Sarah whispered, somehow managing to be shrill in a whisper.

"I didn't think you were religious," Chuck said.

"I'm not," she said. "Not really. Just... whatever. Take the Lord's name in vain all you want, see if I cry about it when you get struck by lightning."

"It doesn't work like that anymore. Not for a couple thousand years anyway. I think I just have to say a couple Our Father's, or something."

"How do you know that? I never asked, but are you Catholic? Can we get married in a Cathedral?"

"Uh, no. Us Bartowski's, we're proud lapsed-protestant secular humanists. I thought that would be in my CIA file," Chuck shrugged. "Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

"No," Sarah whispered, "no, I just never thought about what I wanted out of a wedding until you mentioned it. I kind of... I think I want a church wedding, but I don't know how we're going to make that work."

"If that's what you want, we'll figure something out."

"I love you. God, that feels good to say."

"I love you too, Sarah," Chuck grinned. "But now who's taking the Lord's name in vain, huh?"

"Whatever," she said. "Stop sidetracking me. We need to talk about last night."

"Is this really the proper place to be talking about..."

"It's a confessional, Chuck. Of course, it's the right place," Sarah said, in a muffled, yet exasperated tone. "We never got to talk... before..."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "But that's probably why it happened. Every time we stop to talk, we just get ourselves in trouble."

"You're usually the one who wants to talk!" Sarah whispered fiercely.

"Well, didn't we say all the important stuff?" Chuck asked. "I love you. You love me; 'we're a happy family'."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "We won't be for much longer if you keep quoting 'Barney and Friends' at me." She sighed heavily and leaned her forehead against the partition. "Stupid confessional screen, keeping me from Chuck-snuggles," she whispered almost under her breath. Chuck didn't think he was supposed to hear that last part.

He smiled anyway. "It was your idea to talk in here."

Sarah huffed her bangs out of her face. "You are such a jerk."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah, I do." Sarah whispered. "Okay. I feel better."

"Really? We didn't even talk about anything all that serious. I thought you..."

"I just needed to talk like we used to. No secrets, no covers under the covers. Don't tell me you don't miss our little talks out in the courtyard. I said what I needed to say. Come on, I don't want to plot a break-in and theft of evidence from the FBI out of a confessional in Grace Cathedral. Seems kind of counter-productive, God-wise."

* * *

Once Sarah was satisfied that her telltales hadn't been disturbed, she opened the door of their hotel room. Chuck shut the door behind them, ready to just flop down on the bed and immediately go to sleep. They had spent hours planning their infiltration of the FBI surveillance team's observation post, and more hours walking Fisherman's Wharf. They hadn't quite had time to make it out to Alcatraz, but they did plenty of other touristy stuff, and now his calves ached. Most of all, they'd been able to just be Chuck and Sarah again—which had been amazing—but now he was exhausted and they were probably going to have to fake-have-sex again, which was totally not awesome, despite what had happened the last time.

Sarah went around the room, checking their bags for more telltales, single strands of hair placed just so across door latches and zippers of their luggage, little bits of scotch tape across the gap of the doorjamb on the inside. But Chuck and Sarah had broken that one when they came in a minute ago, so how could she know... he flashed and blinked away the wispy beginning of a minor headache. Oh. Special tape that changed color by the hour after it was broken. CIA had the weirdest toys, in addition to the coolest. Sarah swept the room for bugs again, just to be sure, though she was pretty sure the FBI wouldn't have bothered, with the laser microphone still in place at the hotel across the street.

"God, I could use a shower," Sarah said in the Russian accent that told him she was back to being Caitlin, or Ekaterina being Caitlin or whatever combination of covers was in effect right at that moment. It was all more than a little confusing lately. He tried to do the math on how many layers of cover were in place, and found that he couldn't, off the top of his head. "Care to join me?" Chuck's eyes widened for a moment, but he realized it fit perfectly for their cover. He just wondered if Sarah knew what this mission was doing to him. She had to know, didn't she? Maybe Nick and Caitlin's nonexistent shower sex would suffice for the night. He could hope anyway.

"That sounds perfect," he said, trying to do justice to his cover, and followed her into the bathroom. She turned the hot water on full blast and swept the bathroom for bugs as well, before sitting down on the toilet.

"Okay. We can talk again; the water should keep us from being picked up on the laser mic in the other room, and once it gets hot enough, their thermal cameras should be useless in here."

"Isn't it suspicious that we'd come back to the hotel where they know we know we're being watched? They'll know we're in here to keep out of the surveillance."

"Yes, but I've been thinking about that all day. That's probably the point. It fits the twisty way of looking at things Beckman and Shaw both have: we know they know that we know it's a suspicious move to come back." Sarah said, grinning evilly. "But, the FBI doesn't know, can't know, that we're CIA, and so, they're stuck investigating 'us,' the Pensovs, who are safely dead. They're trying to fathom what our motive might be for acting so crazy, and because of that, especially with Casey on the team to steer them gently—"

"Gently?" Chuck smirked "Since when has Casey done anything 'gently?'"

Sarah grinned and cleared her throat. "Anyway... they aren't investigating who our contact is, or where the meeting is going to be. So, they'll have to follow us to the meet tomorrow, or put a tracer on our taxi, and either way they go about it, they won't have time to set up a full perimeter, so it'll be easier to slip away after we deal with the Ring agent.

"And by deal with you mean..."

"The FBI makes it difficult, but as long as you don't reveal that you're the Intersect, we can just give him the trapped data and let the FBI handle the rest. He'll have some protocol to secure the data, maybe a portable data transmitter, an STU-6 variant, like our phones. I don't know what specifically, not important. If the FBI takes the data, any copies that get made beyond the FBI forensics lab will lead us to Ring agents still inside. And we can trace it from whoever the Ring has in the FBI out into the Ring command structure like we originally planned. It's better this way, in point of fact, as we'll also pick up any sleeper stragglers.

Casey's on the team as NSA liaison, and he's emailing dossiers for all the agents to us so you can flash to make sure there aren't any Ring agents among them. From there, the espionage team can—"

"But we still have to fool the FBI into thinking we're having sex."

"We weren't fooling the FBI last night, Chuck," she blushed a little, but mostly she was grinning, because she knew how her next words would hit him. "I actually had... certain... parts of you in my mouth on more than one occasion." And she wasn't disappointed. Chuck flushed crimson, which, of course, was the point. He was so cute when he blushed like that. "That can't happen tonight in bed. If I start to do... that, or even seem like I'm considering it, you need to stop me."

"Because _I_'m the one with the great willpower and the sense of discipline ingrained in me over years of service. What about our pinky swear?"

Sarah grinned. "You've also gotten laid a couple of times in the last three years where I haven't."

"Come on, once! And Jill was purposefully seducing me for Fulcrum. How was I supposed to know that!" Chuck sighed at her unchanging expression. "How long are you going to hold that against me?"

"I don't know, three years seems like a nice round number," Sarah said, smiling to soften it just a touch. "Or until you sex me into a coma, whichever comes first. Just, you know, not tonight."

"The FBI surveillance team thinks we're having sex right now, don't they?"

"If they're smart, yes."

"Does not compute. If they were smart, they'd think we weren't, and they'd have figured out the whole CIA thing, right?"

"Assuming they're smarter than either of us, or any spy ever, which, no offense to the FBI, isn't an assumption we should be making. Also, it's safe to say that if Beckman and Casey weren't still convinced we're barely getting back to 'just friends' again and we could get away with it, the FBI wouldn't _be_ wrong about that shower-sex."

"About that. I do kind of want to take a shower tonight."

Sarah's cheeks turned the cutest shade of rose for a brief moment at that. "Uh, I don't know if that's a good idea.

"We don't need to take them together. I'll just go in the bedroom in search of 'condoms,' and get a blindfold and a book to read while I 'search'."

"A blindfold? It's not like you haven't seen me before."

"I'm not going to watch you shower. I'm already fighting a losing battle with priapism just being around you."

She smirked. "Really. Maybe we should get that looked at."

"Bad idea. You said so yourself."

"Thanks. I'm getting a little trigger happy with the double entendre, aren't I?"

"God, _yes_, please stop, or at least limit yourself to one or two a day."

"Deal." They shook on it, and the clasp held longer than it should have. Chuck started to lean in for a kiss, unintentionally. Sarah put a finger to his lips to stop him. "Now go get those condoms."

Chuck groaned. "I thought we had a deal."

"That was hardly a single entendre," Sarah said. "Relax I'll be in the shower by the time you get back, so you probably won't even need the blindfold." And thankfully, she was as good as her word. They cycled through the shower with only a couple close calls, and Sarah was already in her PJs by the time he was done with his shower. He really wished it could have been a cold shower, but they had to keep the heat up so it looked like they had showered together. Chuck had only been partially joking earlier, and the cold water would have helped.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: I really enjoy getting all your feedback, so keep those reviews coming. Grad school is starting up again next week, so updates will be getting harder to come by, but I'll try to at least get this arc finished before I have to buckle down and churn out my final draft thesis.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Still more complications; the mission progresses.

Chapter 20:

Waking up with Sarah spooned in his arms reminded Chuck of Barstow, as well as of the previous morning, and the brief couple of days Casey had been out of town recently. Of course, just like all those times before, he had a raging case of morning happy. He groaned softly, and tried to slither away before Sarah noticed him pressing it up against her back, but she sighed and scooched back flush against him. She turned into him slightly and covered his mouth with her hand, eyes imploring. "Just a few more minutes?" She whispered, and Chuck grinned under her hand. He nodded and wrapped her tight in his arms. Sarah wiggled back into his heat as snugly as she could manage, and Chuck squirmed a little, trying to hide his... physiological approval of her movements, but Sarah reached over behind her back and grabbed his shirt to hold him in place. He subsided, and they lay pressed together for a few minutes more. Sarah sighed happily and finally rolled over onto her stomach away from him. She felt cold now, with the loss of his body heat.

He levered himself up onto an elbow to look down on her. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long, a few minutes before you?" She shrugged awkwardly with one shoulder. "It's nice. I miss being able to just cuddle. It's been hell these last few months on the run." Chuck arched an eyebrow and she gave him a stern look and mouthed the word 'cover.' He groaned under his breath but nodded after a moment's sulk at having to go right back into Agent-mode.

"Me too, Caitlin, but we have business."

Sarah groaned and buried her head under her pillow, the consummate actor. "No. We stay here, barricade the doors and live out of the honor bar for a week." Her St. Petersburg accent was pitch-perfect. Chuck smirked and slipped out of bed. Sarah grumbled and tried to snatch his arm, and then his shirt or his boxers to keep him in bed, but he had already made his escape. He shuffled across the room and tore the curtains open. "Too early!" Sarah whined, still sounding like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle.

Chuck laughed and bit back hard on his impulse to ask her to say 'Moose and squirrel.' "Come now, today's an important day, Katya. We need to be on top of our game. What if the FBI was onto us?"

Sarah pulled her head out. "You knew?" She said guiltily. "And you let me bring you back here?"

"The day I can't run rings around the FBI is the day I deserve to go to jail." Chuck waved at the window and turned back to Sarah.

She rolled her eyes. This wasn't what they'd discussed; it was close, but making Nick into an arrogant prick was playing a little fast and loose with the plan. He was having fun with it though, and as always, his smile was contagious. "You know they're listening."

"This is what makes it fun, yes?" he shrugged. "Get dressed. We have highly illegal arms deal to get to, do we not?"

"You know they can arrest us just for saying that?" she remarked. "Hold us for seventy two hours, just on the words alone."

"Ah, but we miss our meeting, and they do not get our supplier." He turned to the window. "Perhaps I am willing to make a deal? Our supplier for our freedom? Frank Wallace of CIA will tell you. I am man of my word, yes? Then we will talk at the meeting."

* * *

Casey's jaw dropped. What the hell was that? The FBI puke Walsh seemed just as shocked. "What the hell?" Walsh said. "You know this Wallace?"

"Contrary to popular belief, FBI, not every spy knows every other," Casey said. "Let me run a check with my supervisor." He dialed Beckman and waited for the phones to synch up. Casey put his hand over the phone. "Can I have the room?"

"Aren't we all on the same team?" Walsh said. Casey just looked at him, and Walsh shrugged and walked out.

"Colonel, what's the situation?"

"The Pensovs are taunting the FBI."

"Are they still in character?"

"Yes. But they dropped Wallace's name. How should we proceed?"

"Tell the FBI team that Wallace is dead. But the Pensovs don't know it. Give them the intel on the Pensovs' cooperation with CIA."

"Roger that, General."

Walsh burst back into the room. "They're on the move; you find out anything?"

"Yeah. They were working for Wallace the last couple years, digging up dirt on human trafficking rings in exchange for CIA unofficially shielding them from other federal agencies and keeping them off Interpol's radar."

"What changed?"

"Wallace got killed a week ago," Casey said. "When did your investigation get greenlit?"

"Three days ago, we got intel they were in the country, heading for San Fran." Walsh grabbed his coat and led the way to the elevators. "They have any idea who killed Wallace? Could it have been Nikolai? O'Bannon says the wife mentioned him being violent."

Casey grunted. "Doubtful. Why drop the name if he knew Wallace was dead?"

"Good point," Walsh said as O'Bannon joined them.

"What's up," she asked. "We moving?"

"Our newlyweds are starting for the meet. Everybody's wheels up for the pursuit."

"Good. I want another shot at the bitch."

"Might not come to that. I'm probably going to get a call from CIA later."

"Wait, what?" O'Bannon growled. "They're CIA?"

"No, but they may be outside contractors." Casey said.

Walsh interrupted. "Their contact's dead though. Casey, you think it's possible they're targets in this too?"

"Oh, absolutely," the Colonel said. "I hadn't thought of that." Who said he wasn't a world class actor in addition to his other outstanding personal qualities. "We're going to need them alive to hand over to the CIA."

"We're just going to hand them over? CIA doesn't have operational authority inside the US."

"Whoever they send will come bearing either court orders or a signed pardon from the President. I've seen it happen."

"The President?" O'Bannon said. "Hell no. This bitch poisoned me."

"Way I hear it," Casey said. "It was knockout pills."

"Potato potahto," O'Bannon said, checking her weapon. "I want a shot at her."

"You can't kill her," Casey said. Despite himself, he was actually starting to like this Feeb. "You know that right?"

"I'm the FBI kick-boxing champion," O'Bannon explained. "I just want to mess up that face a little." Casey held in a grin. As much as he'd like to see Walker taken down a peg, he knew better than to let a vendetta like that spark up. Besides, Walker would totally spank this Feeb.

"Competitive spirit's wasted on arms dealers, FBI. You should try the inter-agency tournaments."

"Yeah, you gonna be there?" O'Bannon said.

"Nope. I don't get enough time off for that anymore."

"Shame," she said. Casey frowned. Was the FBI skirt _hitting _on him?

* * *

"We didn't lose them, did we?" Chuck asked, a touch worried. Sarah just grinned.

"No, they're still back there. Just using proper spycraft, they've got half a dozen vehicles trading off. One front, one follow, the rest paralleling us down side streets. Casey texted me the license plates and the meeting location before we left. That silver Malibu that just passed us is the front, and the van a block back is the follow.

"Oh. Good," Chuck said. He marveled as always at the things that Sarah could juggle in her head. "So, where exactly is the meeting?"

"Just a couple more blocks." Sarah knocked on the partition. "Take a left up ahead, and let us out at the big warehouse on the right."

The cabbie looked at her oddly. "You want I should stick around? I won't even leave the meter running. This is kind of a shady part of town, ya know. Docks and everything?"

"That's sweet," Sarah said. "But we'll be fine. My husband knows how to handle himself."

The cabbie eyed Chuck and snorted. "If you say so. I'll stick around just in case." Chuck gave him a nervous frown and the driver just shrugged.

Once out of earshot, Chuck laughed softly. "He's probably not going to be as thrilled with you when the FBI shows up."

"Jealous?" Sarah said, with a toothy grin. "It's okay if you are. It looks good on you." Chuck grunted. "Please don't turn into Casey. I don't think I could handle that."

"Me neither," Chuck said and grabbed the heavy sliding door. He had to put his shoulder into it.

"You need a hand?" Sarah asked seriously, and he growled and heaved and the door started moving.

"Huh. Nobody home," he said. The warehouse was empty, spotless even, as they walked in. It was easier shutting the door, but it squealed as the wheel popped back into its track. Empty shelving units were set up in aisles, but aside from that, it was deserted. They were nearly to the center of the building.

"You get the feeling we're early?"

"No, I get the feeling this is a trap." Chuck said.

Sarah nodded. "Me too. Something doesn't smell right."

"This is the FBI!" came an amplified voice over a loudspeaker. "We have you surrounded. Surrender now!" Sarah's phone started ringing.

"Casey?" Chuck asked, and Sarah nodded and answered the phone.

"Your contact isn't in there, is he?" Casey's voice came over the speakerphone.

"No, what's up?"

"I don't know. This FBI Special Agent Cavanaugh had the SWAT team here fifteen seconds behind the pursuit vehicles. Either he's the greatest logistics guru the FBI's ever seen or he knew the meet location beforehand."

"I didn't flash on him though; how could he be in the Ring?"

Casey grunted. "We didn't send you his personnel photo, because it would have raised flags requesting it, seeing as he's the one the request would go to."

"Wait. If he's the one who set up the meet, he probably masterminded Wallace and the Pensovs' murders. Can we use this to link it back to him?" Sarah said.

"No, it's just circumstantial," Casey said. "We can talk about that later. Right now we need to get you out of the killbox."

"I know _I_'d appreciate it," Chuck said.

"I was talking to Walker, but you can tag along if you want, Bartowski." Chuck rolled his eyes and nodded; of course, Casey had to take the opportunity to needle him. It was their thing.

"We're on a timetable here, Casey," Sarah said. "This is no time for one-liners."

"Sure thing. The warehouse backs onto another abandoned building on the east side. You should be able to cut your way through with the Detcord I left at the front desk. These old warehouses aren't the fine examples of American craftsmanship I was expecting. There's sewer access from there that should get you outside the cordon, if Moron doesn't wrench his back trying to lift the grate."

"Thanks for that Casey."

"What did I say about the one-liners?"

Casey's grunt sounded vaguely hurt.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Walsh said, listening to the feed on the bugs the SWAT unit had just affixed to the main door. "Did anybody else hear that? Colonel Casey!" Walsh shouted. "We need to move now." Casey slipped his phone into his back pocket and slung the M4 carbine he'd been loaned off his back.

"What are we waiting for?" He said, grinning. One of the FBI SWAT team members tripped a detonator and blew in the door with a couple ounces of C4. Flashbangs followed before a dozen heavily armed and highly trained men raided an empty warehouse. There was no sign of their targets. Casey broke away briefly to track down his partner's exit point. It wasn't difficult, as he'd tagged Bartowski's locator before they left. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, and then propped the cut out section of wall back in place and used a can of spray adhesive to seal the section back together. He cleared the room and went back to join the others in the main section of the empty warehouse.

The others who participated declared their sections clear in short order, and Casey safetied and stowed his weapon and strolled out. He thought about a victory smoke, but it might have seemed odd. It would have to wait until they figured out this Cavanaugh situation.

O'Bannon and Walsh found Casey once the all-clear had been sounded. "Where the hell did they go, NSA?" O'Bannon demanded.

"I was right out here watching the place with you guys, then I cleared my sector on the raid, I didn't go anywhere." Casey said.

"I saw you on your phone beforehand; what was that about?" She said.

"Secure call, telling my superiors we were about to raid the place. What do you think it was?" Casey growled right back. "How'd you know these two were the Pensovs anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, _CIA_ wasn't even in the loop as to their aliases, and Frank was their handler. Wallace was the _only_ one who knew their covers. That intel didn't drip through to the brass until yesterday, when they sent me over. And yet you FBI pukes somehow had time to set up with thermal cameras on their hotel before they even finished their taxi ride from the airport," Casey slung the carbine back over his shoulder. "It's suspicious is all."

"Stop beating around the bush, NSA."

"I need to know who ordered this whole op. Who's running it?"

"Cavanaugh," Walsh said after a moment's indecision. "Jim Cavanaugh, he's the Special Agent in charge of the San Francisco field office. What the fuck are you saying? He's dirty?"

"Bullshit," O'Bannon whispered. "And keep your voices down. An accusation like that without backing it up could mean all our asses."

"Not mine," Casey said, smirking. "I report directly to the Director of the NSA." He fished his phone out. "And I'm running this Cavanaugh guy's records. Excuse me." He took a dozen yards cushion before dialing. The encryption on his phone synching up with the General seemed to take forever.

"Beckman," She said at last.

"We need to run Cavanaugh's personnel photo by the asset; I'm getting a tingle on this guy," Casey said softly so his voice wouldn't carry to the FBI agents. "The meeting was a bust. FBI set up the perimeter like magic. Only way that happens is if the contact is in on the murders, knew where we would be meeting up. Couple that with the FBI finding the hotel reservations on our U.C.s almost instantly means the agent in charge of the investigation knew the real Pensovs were dead but that someone was still coming in. My FBI contacts say Cavanaugh's the one who put them on the trail of my least favorite couple at least a day before they let us know. It's indicative."

"Are you saying Agent Walker is compromised?"

"What? No, General, no. I just... Bartowski's rubbing off on me. It was a joke."

"In the future, keep those to a minimum. I'll get back to you on Cavanaugh."

* * *

"Ugh," Chuck said. "I hate sewers. This reminds me of that one mission, remember?"

"We said we'd never discuss that night. You're breaking the rules," Sarah said, and her phone chirped. "Come on, we're almost to our ride." She hit the slider on her iPhone, and paused. She tapped him on the shoulder and held her phone up so he could see. "Chuck, you recognize this guy?"

Chuck shuddered into the flash, and a few moments later, his eyes widened. "SAC of the San Francisco field office, Jim Cavanaugh. A couple shady business dealings, but nothing overtly illegal. Probably the guy in charge of the teams watching us at the hotel. Not a lot in the file that suggests he's dirty. No Ring flag, no known ties to Fulcrum or any other domestic terror group," he shrugged. "The guy seems clean, but not the too-clean that means he scrubbed his records in order to hide something. I'm getting good at spotting that."

"Damn, I was kind of hoping for a picture in the Intersect of him kicking a puppy so we'd know we were on the right track," Sarah grumbled. "Okay, here's the ladder. Up you go, babe."

The ladder rungs were rusty and slimy with god knew what, and Chuck shuddered a little. At the top, he tried to push the manhole cover off one handed, but it wouldn't budge. He grumbled under his breath and heaved again, but still no use. Finally he let go with the other hand and his shoes almost slipped off the bent rebar that made up his footing. "Whoa!"

"Don't fall, Chuck. I'm right behind you." Sarah said. "Hang on. Here." She climbed up behind him and looped her arms around his legs to hold him steady, pressing her head against his thigh. Chuck glanced down at her, pursing his lips a little at the way she was squeezing him. He had been right about there never being any innocent touching with her after this mission. It took another two tries before he hefted the heavy cover aside, the metal grating against concrete sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

Chuck poked his head out and glanced around. They were just outside the FBI cordon exactly as planned, and there was the SUV Casey had left for them. He hauled himself up out of the manhole and sat on the edge so he could help Sarah climb out. Strictly speaking, she probably didn't _need_ his help, but she took his hand anyway and smiled. Sarah had her lockpick gun in her purse, the same as always, and so she insisted on driving. The keys were stuffed in the visor like something out of a movie.

"So, what are the chances Casey has bugged our getaway ride?" Chuck asked once he had his seatbelt on.

Sarah considered it while she turned into traffic. "Fair to middling, why?"

"No reason. Just curious," Chuck said. He waggled his eyebrows at her, and Sarah smacked him in the chest. Chuck's reaction time was good enough that he could grab her wrist before she retracted her hand. Bringing her hand up to his lips, Chuck gave the back of her hand a silent, but lengthy kiss.

Her lips turned up in a half smile, and Sarah rolled her eyes. "Goof," she said. The drive was fairly quiet after that, as there was a good chance the FBI Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco Field Office was now or soon would be a full-fledged Ring Agent as well, and he had most of the California FBI looking for their cover identities. Suddenly the side mission to the FBI surveillance post was a little more exciting.

"So, the FBI is going to raid our hotel room now, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. With any luck, that will keep them busy long enough for us to get into _their_ hotel and get that stupid tape back."

"I don't like the sound of that," Chuck said. "Apart from meeting you, my luck's been pretty abysmal ever since college."

Sarah glanced at him with a half smile. "Aw... that's sweet." Then she arched an eyebrow and cocked her head suspiciously, but with a saucy grin. "What are you trying to butter me up for?"

"What? Nothing, I just—oh God! Watch the road! Watch the road!"

"Hell!" Sarah muttered, swerving to avoid a black van that came out of nowhere, blocking traffic. Their SUV's tires screeched and the vehicle almost tipped onto two wheels, but Sarah's skill and a little luck kept them on the road as they skidded to a halt. Another van pulled out of an alley behind them, boxing the SUV in rather effectively. "Son of a bitch! How'd they find us?"

The sliding door of the front van opened and two men in the back with assault rifles popped out. Each had a black ski-mask hiding their features. "Sarah, what do we do?"

"Stay in the car, Chuck."

"No! I'm not letting you go out there!"  
Sarah slapped her hand over the door locks and grabbed Chuck around the neck to make sure he didn't do anything stubborn-heroic-stupid. "Stay. In. The. Car! It's bulletproof! I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh. Oh..." Chuck shrugged. "Sorry. I freaked out."

"Out of the car, now!" one of the black-clad men shouted. Sarah adjusted the rearview and spotted another pair of heavily armed men piling out of the rearmost van. She rolled her eyes and flipped them the bird with one hand, and with the other gave a hand gesture that caused Chuck's eyebrows to climb wildly up his forehead. He'd never seen Sarah do something so vulgar.

The men opened fire, front and back, but Sarah just sighed, "Idiots," and leaned over to open the glove compartment. Bullets sent tiny cracks spiderwebbing through the front and back windshield. A few errant rounds struck the door panels and the front windows. It sounded like hail on a tin roof, but none of the bullets came through, at least none of them that Chuck could see or feel. She came out of the glovebox with a pistol, flipped it handle upright and held it out to Chuck. "You'll need this if I can't get us out of here."

"Sarah, you know I don't like guns."

"Take it," she growled. "I don't have it in me to shoot you to save you from torture. If this goes bad, you're going to have to do it yourself."

"Meep," Chuck said softly and took the pistol. It was surprisingly light, less than two pounds. He frowned and inspected it more carefully. Chuck had an inkling that Sarah had given him a gun with no bullets, but given what she seemed to expect him to do with it, it was puzzling. He freaked out a little that he was still rational enough to think about something like that, with bullets continuously plinking off their SUV. Sarah slammed the car into reverse and gunned the engine. She put her hand on his seat back and turned to look out the back as the SUV leapt backward.

The gunmen dove out of the way, and the rear bumper bit into the van behind them with a crunch. The rear pair of attackers regained their equilibrium and emptied their clips. They had magazines taped end to end and merely ejected them, flipped them, and were back in business a second later. The cracks were growing in the side windows now, lowering visibility, but still no bullets came through.

Chuck fiddled with his gun, trying to find the magazine release so he could check if he actually had any bullets. Suddenly, Sarah's hand came across and tilted the barrel away from where he had inadvertently pointed it at himself. "What are you doing?"

"It felt light."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You didn't flash? It's mostly plastic, and it's small caliber. Little more than a .22."

"A girl gun?" Chuck said. He sounded a little affronted, and she sighed. "You gave me a girl gun?"

Sarah shifted back into drive and floored it. The men in front of the SUV dove out of the way this time, and she wrenched the wheel to alter their point of impact. "James Bond used a PPK; that's a .22, and nobody calls _it_ a girl gun," The SUV plowed into the lead van just fore of the front wheel well, and the van smashed aside. Sarah swerved back into the appropriate lane and continued her thought without pausing for a breath. "I don't know what you're complaining about. You've even got armor-piercing rounds, and an even 20 rounds to a mag. I know you don't like guns, so I got you one that doesn't have a lot of kick."

"Oh. Thanks." Bullets were still hitting the back windshield, and then, the SUV started to fishtail.

"You're welcome," Sarah growled and wrenched the steering wheel again, bringing the vehicle back under control. "Lost a tire," She said matter-of-factly. "But Casey will have gotten run-flats so we should be okay for now."

They turned a corner, and the sound of bullets hitting their ride cut off. There was an awkward silence for a while.

"So, those weren't FBI guys," Chuck said.

"No, Chuck. They definitely were not."

"Then, who the heck were they?" Chuck complained. "I saw AKs and Russian GSh-18s."

"Good eye, baby. I didn't spot their sidearms. I guess it's somebody Russian then. With just the AKs to go on it could have been anybody really," Sarah explained. "But nobody would use a Russian pistol without nationalism of some kind at work. Not that that really narrows it down..."

"Huh?" Chuck said, still breathing heavily from the flash on the gunmen's weapons.

"We're arms dealers," Sarah said. "Who knows how many people are out to kill us? Narrowing it down to just Russian, or even old Soviet Bloc countries doesn't help all that much."

"But how'd they know where to find us?" Chuck asked. "Maybe that can narrow it down?"

Sarah pondered it for a moment. "Did you take anything from the hotel?"

"Just the pen. It's really nice and I didn't bring one from work," Chuck said. He patted his coat pockets, until he found the pen in question in the inside breast pocket. "It's just a pen, see?"

Sarah snatched it and glanced at the pen for a moment. It was nicer than the usual fare at hotels, plastic Bic pens, sold by the hundred. This one had an actual metal barrel with the hotel's name emblazoned on it, and a clicky-top. Sarah held the pen against the steering wheel with one hand, and unscrewed the barrel from the mechanism while she drove. The two halves came apart to reveal an extra component or two. Sarah gave Chuck the stink-eye. "You know what this is?"

Chuck winced and started to flash, but shook it off before it could take hold completely. "BD-36, some kind of old-timey Soviet tracking device?"

"Yes. Some kind," Sarah confirmed with another glare. "No listening device thank God. Looks like the Pensovs have been a little naughtier than we thought." She rolled down her window and tossed the little gizmo into the street.

The silent treatment continued for a few minutes. They stopped at a red light and the group of teenagers in the car next to them stared at the bullet-holes in consternation. The driver's side window of the station wagon rolled down and the driver made a circular motion with his fist, asking Chuck to do the same.

Chuck shrugged. It seemed like Sarah didn't want to talk to him, so he hit the down button on his window. Sarah's eyes flashed and she smacked him in the arm, and a second later his window went back up. "What are you doing?" she grated.

"The kids in the car next to us wanted to ask something," Chuck said.

Sarah grumbled something under her breath, and she pressed a button, taking away Chuck's control of the passenger window. "What part of secret mission didn't you understand?"

"Are you mad at me about the pen thing?" Chuck asked. "Because I'm sorry about that, but you scanned for bugs back at the hotel, so why didn't it pick up the tracer?"

Sarah huffed her bangs out of her face. "I'm not mad," she said. Chuck laughed, and Sarah glared. "Okay, I'm not mad at you... I freaked you out with the gun thing, and it was silly of me to do, and we've got the FBI and a bunch of unknown, probably Russian whackjobs on our tails, and you," she stopped for a moment. "You know what? I am mad at you! You don't know who those people are. They could be spies, sent to kill us!"

"They're like sixteen, sweetie," Chuck said. "You're being paranoid."

"Don't call me that."

"What?You're like paranoid squared!"

"Not _that_!" Sarah glared at him, then pointedly flicked her eyes around the inside of the SUV's cabin. The one that he now remembered had a 'fair-to-middling' chance of being bugged by Casey. His brain revolted. Too many layers of lies, of identities, of covers. It was all too much. He was dating the love of his life, and they were all but engaged, but pretending to be just friends pretending to be a pair of arms dealers who'd been married for the better part of a decade pretending to be newlyweds, and now they were on the run from the FBI and a couple vans full of Russian gunmen. That left the Ring and Fulcrum and your standard run-of-the-mill religious-nutjob terrorists out of it. Too many bad guys trying to kill him. He blinked. Chuck had just thought of the entire FBI as the bad guys.

"Sarah, I'm freaking out," he said. "And I don't know if I can stop."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: And things don't get any less complicated next chapter! (Insert evil laugh here.)

Thanks for all the reviews, everybody. I can't get enough... I think I may have a problem. Thankfully that's the first step on the road to recovery.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thanks to daywalkr82 for the beta read. Only a week until Season 4 starts. I should probably go find my TV at some point...

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, or any of the main characters, subsidiary characters, situations, settings, hamsters, bean-bag chairs, etc.

* * *

Chapter 21:

* * *

Sarah wanted to stop and reassure him, but they couldn't risk parking the shot-up SUV on the street where it could be spotted and reported to the police, and they still didn't know if the SUV was bugged. That and the fact that she had to watch their six because she wasn't sure the maybe-Russians weren't trying to pick up their trail had her in a less than reassuring frame of mind. "Please, Chuck. Calm down," she said, but she didn't really think just telling him to do it would work. If that worked, her life would be so much simpler, but he wouldn't be Chuck if he just blindly followed everything she said. Sarah didn't want a lapdog; she wanted her Chuck, panic freak-outs and Call of Duty marathons and all. Swerving around a mid-size sedan, she turned the problem over in her head. She had to think fast, because it looked like Chuck was about to start hyperventilating.

One hand darted into her purse and felt around. Her fingers flew over the grips of her S&W, the little magnetic canister with the intel that was probably useless now after the contact hadn't shown, and there it was. Sarah pulled her portable bug scanner and tossed it into Chuck's lap.

He blinked and looked at her questioningly, but he didn't say anything. That was a bad sign, in Sarah's experience. A brooding Chuck was invariably a second-thoughts-having Chuck, and neither of them could afford that right now. Sarah pointed at her eyes and then at the gadget she'd passed him.

Chuck frowned and peered at the black plastic casing. His eyes flickered under his eyelids in what Sarah knew was a flash. He brightened noticeably and switched the detector on, sweeping it around the inside of the SUV's passenger compartment happily. They hadn't turned on the radio, so it wouldn't interfere with the readings, and she kept her eyes on the road. His long arms helped him reach into the back seat. No beeps at all so far. Once he finished up, then maybe they could talk—What the hell! "Chuck!" Sarah shouted and grabbed his wrist. "What did we say," she hissed in his ear. "About stealing third?"

"Wh-what! I wasn't— I mean," Chuck babbled. He held up the bug sweeper, in his defense. "I just... I thought there could be a bug under your seat, gutter mind!"

Sarah blushed, and tossed her head to get her hair over her ears, which were suddenly burning. "Give me that," she said, bristling as she finished the sweep under her legs herself. "Okay, we're clear. You remember the plan?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. "But my phone doesn't have that cool GPS app thing."

"I call it my ChuckDar," Sarah said and shoved her purse into his hands.

"Nerd," Chuck said. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. "Real mature, Agent Walker."

Sarah shrugged and adjusted the rearview mirror, her eyes widened in shock and she glanced over her shoulder. "Hang on."

"What's wrong?"

"Hang on to something," she said with more force as her hands glided along the steering wheel. She spun the wheel and the SUV swerved into oncoming traffic.

"What the hell is going on?" Chuck shouted, clinging for dear life.

"Don't yell at me!" Sarah shot back. "The team that attacked us is still back there. I thought I lost them, but the cracks in the windshields masked the pursuit. We're going to have to go to plan B."

"I don't remem—car! Car!" Chuck pointed, and Sarah rolled her eyes and somehow managed to slide the SUV between two oncoming cars before she downshifted, punched the gas and slewed the behemoth back into the proper lane. Their horns doppler shifted comically behind them as the SUV rocketed through traffic.

"Stop freaking out and let me drive," Sarah said. "Get out my phone out and see where the FBI is."

Chuck rooted through Sarah's purse. "I don't see your phone," Chuck said.

"It's in there. I don't know what to tell you," Sarah said. The SUV squealed around a turn and Sarah grit her teeth, leaned into the turn and checked their pursuers again in the rearview. "Look harder."

"I really don't think it's in here," Chuck said as he pulled things out of her purse, holding them awkwardly out of the way with both hands. "We got, your gun, the data, throwing-knife-wrist-scabbard, wallet, travel size-Kleenex," Chuck said, barely able to hang on to everything as he continued his litany. "Spare mags, lipstick, make-up thingy."

"Compact," Sarah said absently, taking another corner.

"Right, what you said... and, uh... tampons?" He held one up gingerly between his fingers, as if he thought it might bite him.

"Oh my _God_!" Sarah blushed and tried one-handed to snatch her purse back, but she only managed to knock it out of his hand. Her phone fell out.

"Found it," Chuck chimed in, trying to swipe the unlock. It made a harsh beeping sound. Access Denied. "Um, Sarah?" He held it out and Sarah pressed her thumb to the built in scanner. "Thanks, you said ChuckDar? I don't see the shortcut for, oh. DIA GPS Tracking Algorithm 2.3. I see why you call it ChuckDar. CIA really doesn't pick names for brand recognition do they?"

"Honey, I'm trying to concentrate," Sarah said. "How far is the FBI away from their hotel? The timing on this is going to be tricky, now that we've got the trigger-happy brothers on our tail back there. You need to put it on the Aux. setting. There should be a button that-"

"Oh, I see that now," Chuck frowned and fiddled with the settings. "There's two blips."

"What?" Sarah said. "What do you mean?"

"I'm picking up..." Chuck thought about it. "Wait, do you have any more of those GPS things in your purse?"

"No, why?"

"One of the blips..." Chuck squinted through the web of cracks across his window as they shot through an intersection. That was the right street sign. "Yeah, one of the blips is in the car with us."

"The Russians must have tossed a sticky-dot on us before we got out of their trap," Sarah punched the steering wheel. "Damn it."

"Wait. A what? That's like a GPS you throw and it sticks to stuff?"

"Yeah, why are you grinning about it?" Sarah demanded. "Now we can't lose them."

"It's a Spider-tracer," Chuck said, awestruck. Sarah stared at him blankly for a moment, before turning her eyes back to the road. Chuck rolled his eyes. "You really need to read more of my comics collection."

"How far back is the FBI?"

"A mile, mile and a half?" Chuck said.

"Great. Really just perfect," Sarah muttered. "Hang on, we're there."

"Sarah, shouldn't you be slowing down instead of speeding up?" Chuck asked as he saw the bulk of the FBI's hotel growing near.

Sarah grinned. "I said hang on."

The SUV was still going at least fifty miles per hour, when she made the turn. Sarah misjudged it, just slightly, and as the SUV whipped around in a quick one-eighty, one of the rear tires hit the curb and the vehicle jumped up and squealed sideways. Chuck let out a high-pitched yell, and while it wasn't _quite_ the girlish scream he used to let out, it was still distracting. Luckily the extra couple of thousand pounds in armor the SUV was carrying kept them from flipping, and the high-performance shocks handled the sudden and extreme maneuver fairly well. The axle didn't crack, but the transmission rods weren't so lucky. A fan of sparks flew up ahead and behind of them as the SUV backed down into the parking garage, leaving a slick of transmission fluid and antifreeze behind like a snail. Sarah slammed on the brakes, and brought the lumbering behemoth to a screeching, shuddering halt right in front of a horrified-speechless Valet Parking attendant.

She popped open the center console and hauled out the disguise kit. A black wig for her, and a fake Magnum P.I. mustache for Chuck were all they could afford to use at the moment, time being such a factor. Chuck squirmed when Sarah applied the sticky facial hair to his lip. "Quit fidgeting," she growled. "You need to look the part."

"It tickles," Chuck protested with a shrug.

Sarah sighed and grabbed his hair to steady him as she pressed the mustache in with more force than strictly necessary. "Let's move," Sarah said. She had to force the door open with a kick, since the massive volume of fire had damaged the latch mechanism, which didn't help her mood. She hopped out and tossed the keys to the valet. "You're probably going to want to get this thing out of sight before our friends get here. Apparently we owe them money." As far as on-the-fly covers go, it wasn't half bad. It also wasn't half good, but beggars can't be choosers.

Then, Chuck finally managed to get his door open and over-balanced, falling out almost on his head. Sarah cringed and put her hands to her face in worry, then went up on tiptoes to see him over the hood of the mostly crippled SUV. "You okay, honey?"

He didn't answer, merely popping to his feet with a thumbs up. He jumped and tried to slide across the hood, but his pants got caught on a bullet-hole and he ended up rolling out of control and falling again. Once again, he popped right back up. Sarah took her purse from him with a look of concern. "Keep this up, and I'll start making you wear a helmet," Sarah said, with just a faint worried smile, and smoothed his fake mustache back into place.

Sarah ran for the lobby with Chuck trailing a step behind her. The hapless valet surveyed the battle-scarred and wrecked SUV. He hit the button to unlock the doors on the key-fob out of morbid curiosity. The tires took that opportunity to blow out, all at once, and the vehicle settled down onto the rims of its wheels. Steam billowed up from under the hood as radiator fluid started streaming out behind the grill.

"You remember the plan?" Sarah whispered. Chuck nodded, still rubbing his head where he'd fallen. That helmet idea certainly had merit. "Where's your FBI badge?"

Chuck patted his pockets, panicking a little until he found the stolen credentials. He fumbled them out and nearly dropped them. Sarah fought down a smirk. "Alright," he said, when he finally had his composure back. "I've got this."

Wrapping himself up in his Charles Carmichael persona helped a little; it was familiar and comforting, with all the shifting covers he'd been dealing with lately. He just had to remember to say the right name. Chuck walked straight up to the desk and flipped open the leather wallet that held Sean Walsh's FBI badge and id. "Special Agent Sean Walsh," Chuck said. "FBI. I... this is kind of embarrassing. I lost my keycard, for the room. Could you make me another one?"

The front-desk clerk arched an eyebrow, and tugged the credentials closer, peering intently at the identification picture. Chuck swallowed. A stop at a photo booth the day before, while playing tourist with Sarah, and then some fancy work with an Exact-o knife had been all it took to work the transformation. "Huh," the clerk said.

"Is something wrong?"

"What? Oh, no. Nothing, I just never saw an FBI badge before."

Chuck grinned and nodded. "Actually, we call them credentials," he said, putting a hand up to shield his mouth from prying ears conspiratorially.

"Hey thanks," the woman said and smiled back at him. "Let me just grab a blank keycard and I'll get you set up. Walsh, you said? Oh, here it is. FBI has a block of rooms." She swept the card through the scanner, and slid it into his hand. "Here you go, Agent Walsh."

Chuck grinned and arched an eyebrow. "Special Agent."

"Mm-hmm. Special is right," she said. Chuck laughed good-naturedly and started walking over to Sarah by the bank of elevators. She was tapping her foot impatiently and glaring at him with her arms crossed over her chest. Chuck blinked. What had he done now?

"What did I do now?" Chuck asked. It was worth voicing the thought aloud. Sarah sniffed and got on the elevator without saying a word. The doors were still open when the valet darted into the lobby, finally recovered from Chuck and Sarah's traumatic arrival. The young man went right over to the front-desk clerk who had made Chuck-as-FBI a new keycard. She was a fairly pretty brunette, Chuck realized. Finally. "Oh, fu—" the closing doors cut off the rest.

* * *

"Hang on," O'Bannon said. "Shut up Casey, I'm trying to listen."

—Gun battle perpetrators heading north on Everett toward—

"Son of a bitch!" Casey said. "They're heading for our hotel."

"How can you tell?" Walsh wanted to know.

Casey grinned. "Because they're following the Pensovs."

"What?" O'Bannon turned to look at Casey in the back seat. He'd lost the rock paper scissors battle with her to determine who rode shotgun in the FBI suburban. "You're sure? How?"

Casey's grin never changed a whit. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Oh, screw you, NSA!" she huffed and turned back, keeping her eyes ahead. Oh yes, she was definitely digging the Casey.

"I'm being serious," Casey protested. He showed her the subtly altered screen of his phone's usual Chuck GPS readout. "I paid off the room service guy to slip a GPS into her purse this morning."

"You _what_!" O'Bannon said shrilly. "That's..."

Casey grinned. "Smart?"

O'Bannon blushed and turned back again. "I was going to say illegal."

"Patriot Act," Casey said. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Walsh rolled his eyes. "Anybody want to hazard a guess why our suspects are waiting for us at our hotel? It can't be for anything good."

Casey grunted. He'd like to ask them that himself. They were completely off-script now and hadn't even bothered to call in. That bothered him, and not in the normal way Bartowski usually bothered him. Bartowski acted like a moron, and Casey made fun of him for it. If Bartowski got offended, Casey made fun of him for being thin-skinned. If he tried to act tough, Casey found a way to make fun of him for that, too. It was their thing. This was different, however; Casey was worried. Mostly about Walker. No, really.

* * *

"Where are they!" one of the masked men shouted. "We have their vehicle; now someone tell me where they went, or I start making the corpses, yes?"

"W-we don't know who you're talking about," the front-desk clerk stammered, before adding a belated. "Sir."

He put the barrel of his GSh-18 right in the woman's face. "They will have been the last people to come through door before us? This you understand?"

"You mean those two FBI agents?"

"FBI! Bozhe moi," one of the others said, grabbing the ringleader's leather coat. "You never said they were FBI!"

The ringleader's eyes could be seen rolling, even with the ski-mask, and he ignored his flunky. "A man and a woman. Both tall, good looking?"

She shivered and gave a frightened nod. "Y-yeah."

"What room?"

"616," she managed before bursting into tears.

"You two," he said, pointing out the two closest to the doors. "Stay here and watch the doors. Keep the people back. Everyone else, with me."

Three other men, all with AKs held at the ready, piled into the elevators with their leader. "You never said anything about the FBI," the same man as before said.

"It's a ruse, doorak!" the ringleader said in disgust. "Russian arms dealers suddenly are FBI agents? Even Americans are not so crazy as that! Relax, it is not the plan, but we will be fine. Real FBI is probably _miles_ away."

* * *

Walsh pulled the FBI suburban up to the curb in a screech of tires. "How do you want to do this? We go in heavy?" he leaned over for the door handle and Casey clamped a hand onto each FBI agent's shoulder, fixing them in place.

"Not so fast you two," he leaned forward between the seats, pointed, and visible through the glass doors and front picture window were two masked men with classic AK-47 assault rifles. They were in the process of putting down the blinds, so they weren't completely hopeless. "Drive the 'burban into the lobby."

"What!" O'Bannon shouted. "You're crazy."

"So they say," Casey admitted. He patted Walsh on the shoulder in encouragement. "C'mon, it'll be fun. I promise to cover for you with your potentially-crooked boss."

"Aw, screw it," Walsh muttered, and spun the wheel.

"Hey alright, FBI," Casey said, turning in his seat to haul the cased shotgun out of the way-backseat. "I knew there was hope for you!"

Walsh did a three point turn into traffic, blocking the oncoming lane. The backed up drivers started blaring on their horns.

Inside the hotel, one of the gunmen frowned. "What is that? You hear? Yuri, check the doors; make sure they are locked up tight."

The gunman named Yuri turned to the door and his eyes went wide as pie-plates. He didn't even have time to curse his luck. The Suburban plowed through, sending the twisted doorframe and a wave of shattered glass before it. The glass was light enough and his unseasonable leather coat and body armor thick enough that the storm of glass shards didn't kill him outright, though he would have plenty of slashes along his front where his body armor gapped. The doorframe bowled him over, but didn't take him out of the fight completely.

"Andrey!" he shouted to his compatriot and opened up on rock-and-roll, the full-auto setting of his assault rifle, spraying wildly. Most of his bullets ended up in the prettied-up-concrete ceiling. A split-second later Andrey opened up as well, and the two gunmen stitched lines of splintering cobwebs across the windshield of the armored FBI vehicle.

"I hate this town!" Andrey shouted over the roar of his assault rifle. "All the cars are bulletproof!"

Walsh and O'Bannon opened their doors and stepped out, using the bullet-proofing in the window and side-panels for cover. "FBI! Drop the guns!"It wasn't the smartest move, but the two gunmen weren't exactly great tacticians either. They both scrambled for cover, and it looked like Walsh managed to graze one of them, but that was about it. Casey worked the action of the shotgun and checked to see what the FBI was loading these days. Slug rounds, perfect. He didn't have to worry about errant pellets injuring civilians, and the heavy projectile would defeat just about any personal body armor at close to medium range. He leaned over the center console and found the controls for the sunroof while the Feebs were exchanging mostly useless—and dangerous with so many potential hostages—gunfire. He popped up out of the sunroof, and used the height advantage that his perch and his 6'5" frame combined to give him, and lined up his shot. The penetrating power of a 12 gauge 3" deer-slug is what is known in some circles, as overkill. In other circles, it's just called 'scary.'

The gunmen had body armor, as Casey had half-expected from their weapons and clothing, but his first slug went through the counter-top behind which his target was hiding, blasted through his light tactical Kevlar, completely through his chest, out the back of what couldn't properly be called a 'bullet-proof' vest anymore, and embedded itself in the heavy concrete load-bearing wall behind him with a cloud of dust. It gouged a two inch crater in the cement, even after all of that. Casey worked the action to load another round and paused. The remaining gunman had seen his friend's demise, and thought better of continuing.

"My give up!" he shouted, tossing down his Kalashnikov and putting his hands on top of his head without being prompted. Casey kept the shotgun trained on the man while Walsh and O'Bannon went about dealing with all the bruised lady-feelings and taking care of things like Miranda rights.

"My name is Special Agent Walsh, and this is Special Agent O'Bannon, I'd like everyone to remain calm. This situation is under control."

The front desk clerk raised a hand. "Um... are you any relation to the other Special Agent Walsh?"

"What other Walsh?" he said, perturbed. "What are you talking about?"

"The one who just went upstairs," she said. "All the guys with guns are after them."

O'Bannon glared at him from where she was busy cuffing their prisoner. "Walsh, where's your badge?"

Walsh patted the coat pocket where he always kept his... "Crap," he said. "She must have snatched it at the coffee shop yesterday."

"And you didn't notice it until now!"

"She left my gun, so I didn't think to check, and then I slept in my clothes because of the stakeout!" Walsh protested. "I haven't had to flash my damn badge once since we got here."

The front-desk clerk raised her hand again, clearing her throat. "Um, I think they're called credentials now?"

Casey grunted, amused by the byplay. "Can we move on, please? I think you said something about more guys with guns, Ma'am?"

The brunette from the front-desk nodded vigorously. "Yeah, they're all heading up to the sixth floor. Room 616."

"That's our surveillance post," O'Bannon said. "Walsh, you stay in the lobby and babysit Boris here until our backup arrives."

"Why always Boris?" he sighed. "My name is Andrey," the former gunman started to protest. O'Bannon cuffed him in the back of the head.

"What part of 'right to remain silent' did you find confusing, asshat?"

"This is police brutality, yes?"

Casey grinned and tossed O'Bannon the shotgun. He ducked down and jumped out, cracking his knuckles over his head. "You think that's bad? wait'll you see NSA brutality."

* * *

Chuck popped the door open with the key the nice brunette lady had made for him, which he figured he would now _never _hear the end of, and stepped in with a sweeping motion. "So this is where the magic happens," he waggled his eyebrows. "You think we have time for a private screening?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Ick, Chuck. Normal people never look good in a sex-tape."

"Hate to break it to you sweetie, but that body of yours ain't exactly normal," Chuck said.

She pursed her lips. "I wasn't talking about me."

Chuck's mouth fell open for a moment, and then he grinned. "Nice burn, baby. But next time if you really want to sell it you need to put more menace into it."

"Just find the damn tape already," she growled.

Chuck darted over to a pair of computer monitors and sat heavily. "Now see, that's more the level of menace I was talking about," he said softly to himself, as his fingers found the keyboard.

"Can you hack their passwords?"

Chuck shrugged. "Sure, if I have to. But FBI guys are usually pretty silly about things like—There see? JEdgarinaHoover. I'm in."

"Who?"

"Feminization of Edgar," Chuck explained. Sarah stared at him blankly. "Famous cross-dressing founder of the FBI? No? Really?"

Sarah shook her head, watching him work over his shoulder. "Your brain astonishes me."

"Thanks, Sarah."

She snorted. "It wasn't exactly a compliment, sweetie," Sarah said, but she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head to soften the blow. "Hurry up, …I was going to call you by a famous hacker's name in a sarcastic manner, but I don't know any famous hackers."

"Mark Abene, aka Phiber Optik," Chuck said absently. "They wrote a book about him."

"Huh," Sarah said. "What—"

"Done," Chuck said.

"Really?" Sarah said, a little puzzled. "I wasn't distracting you?"

"Wasn't really that complicated. They had the video files sorted by date and time, in a folder right on the desktop named 'Surveillance Video'," Chuck said. "I even checked their internet logs to make sure they didn't send it anywhere yet. Then I ran a DOD-secure delete. Randomly rewrites the memory locations seven times. Incriminating video equals dead. We're good, unless you wanted a copy?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "No, thank you. I'll just be a second," she went over to the night stand and picked up the notepad, very similar to the one in their hotel room across the street. She wrote quickly: **Nice working with you.**

**EP.**

**Check your shoes, FBI.**

She took only a moment to study her work, when she heard Chuck on the phone. "Yes, room service please?"

"Chuck what are you doing?" she hissed. He put a hand to the receiver to block out the brief exchange.

"I'm on the phone!" he whispered right back, and put the phone back to his ear. "Yes, I'd like to order two pitchers of lemonade and a plate of fresh lemons. Lemon halves are fine. Room 616. Yes. Thank you."

"Alright," Sarah said, once he'd hung up. "Do you want to explain yourself now?"

"It's just... you know... when life gives you lemons? It's a joke."

"Do you really think we should be taunting the FBI like that?"

"Its in character, isn't it?" Chuck complained. "And you're doing it too, leaving a note isn't taunting the FBI?"

Sarah heaved a sigh. "Alright, point to Chuck," Sarah dug in her purse, and came out with a tiny little gadget.

"What's that thing do?" Chuck asked, leaning forward. Sarah slapped his hand gently away, pushed in the button and dropped it on the coffee table near the surveillance gear.

"Portable de-gaussing charge," Sarah said. "It's got maybe a twenty foot range. Wipes all magnetic drives inside that arc. We need to move quick or it'll wipe our phones as well when it goes. It's not that I don't trust you, sweetie. I just like to be thorough."

Chuck opened the door and a man in a ski-mask put a pistol to his head. "Hands up," the man said. Sarah darted to the side out of line of sight. "It's been ages, old friend. You never call; you never write. I'm starting to think you don't like me, Nikolai."

"I think you have me confused with someone else," Chuck said. He paused for a moment, thinking of how to go on from there, but the man with the gun shushed him with a finger to his lip. If that wasn't creepy enough, three men with AK-47s filled the hallway behind him.

"Niko, Niko, Niko," he said, patting Chuck on the cheek, just shy of a slap. "It's good. Your plastic surgeon, he is very good. The new face, I like it. But when I find him," the ringleader shrugged. "He sell you out in blink of the eye, yes? You should have just kill him. But you always were soft. Like pudding."

Chuck's eyebrows went up in shock. "Harry?" That couldn't be right. Harry Tang was decidedly not-Russian.

"Who? No!" The ringleader yanked his ski-mask off. "It is Kasimir! Kasimir Fyorodenko! You leave me for dead in North Sea with empty cargo ship and the bodies of all my men you kill?" The man sounded vaguely hurt. "You don't remember me?"

"Oh, right... that," Chuck said, and tugged at his collar to loosen it before he realized he was wearing a t-shirt.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N:Next Chapter: Things get _really_ crazy.

School is back, and thesis defense is looming, so I won't be doing a lot of work on this story for a while. That said, there is another chapter in Beta right now. And 90% of the chapter after that and about half of the chapter after _that_ are both sitting on my hard drive giving me sad eyes. I'm not going to say 'hiatus' with regard to this story, because I need something to work on when I get thesis-writer's-block, but expect the more relaxed 'every couple of weeks or whatever schedule' to be in force until I finish writing 90 pages or so of interconnected short-stories for my thesis. And 15-20 pages worth of literary criticism of **_myself_** in regard to same 90 pages. Ugh. Brain already hurts.

Maybe some nice relaxing reviews will cheer me up? It's worth a shot anyway.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Giant action extravaganza! Be warned. There _may _be explosions. (There will definitely be explosions)

Thanks to _daywalkr82 _for the beta read.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but that's okay. Because if I owned Chuck, I would have to figure out some way to squeeze all the gunfire and explosions and hot chicks like you like into the budget. (And guest stars: in your minds Kasimir should be played by Dennis Hopper, doing a horrible accent like he did in the first season of 24. Unintentionally hilarious!)

* * *

Chapter 22:

* * *

Casey and O'Bannon stood in front of the elevator doors. There was an entire bank of elevators, four in all, but they'd been waiting for almost a minute. "Screw it, I'm taking the stairs."

"Hey, wait up!" O'Bannon said, when his longer legs outdistanced her easily.

"Put up or shut up time, FBI!" Casey shouted back. He took the first flight of stairs three at a time. The second flight he took two at a time, and kept that pace for a while. At the fifth floor landing he slowed down and actually used every step, a touch winded. O'Bannon's smaller frame let her catch up to him halfway up the final switchback of the staircase. She grinned and pushed him in the back.

"Come on, NSA, move it or lose it."

Casey went to open the door, only to find it locked. "What the hell?"

"With these fancy hotels, the doors sometimes lock from the inside, for security reasons. My keycard should work," she said, and punched Casey to get him moving. "Come on, out of the way."

* * *

Kasimir grabbed Chuck by the shirt and threw him backward into the room. As he flew, Chuck noticed that Sarah had pulled a vanishing act. He seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and a somehow rational part of his brain explained to the rest of his poor puzzled, jostled psyche, that she must have slipped into the bathroom to call for backup. Then he hit the coffee table, and pain bloomed in his back.

The wooden legs snapped off and he split the faux-mahogany tabletop down the middle. Chuck's eyes widened and he tried to turn, find, and disable the degausser thingy. His fingers brushed it, but he was woozy from the impact and just managed to bat it away. The tiny cylindrical device tumbled end over end to land right next to the power strip where the FBI had plugged in all their surveillance equipment. "Oh, crap," Chuck breathed. When the charge detonated so close to the 120v wiring for the room, the burst of magnetic distortion might be amplified. The math was a little complicated to do in his head, but Chuck ball-parked it at about a ten-fold increase. That put the effective radius at about eighty to one hundred feet. The little charge flared briefly. Very anticlimactic, considering every magnetic storage device, hard-drive, flash-drive, and memory card in the entire hotel had probably just been wiped clean.

In the bathroom, Sarah pulled up Casey's contact entry from the list and hit send. Then the screen wavered, the colors flickering unnatural greens in waves lapping across the LCD. A message popped up: No SIM card found. "Aw, hell," she whispered.

* * *

Down the hall in the stairwell, O'Bannon swiped her hotel keycard through the scanner, but nothing happened. She frowned and tried it again.

"You have an ETA on backup?" Casey asked. O'Bannon just shrugged. Casey grunted and pushed her out of the way, leveling his shotgun at the door lock.

"Are you insane?" O'Bannon growled. "There could be civilians behind that door, the slug will cut it like a hot knife through butter."

"Well, what would you suggest then, FBI?"

O'Bannon snorted. "If you ever thought with anything besides your trigger finger... Like for instance those shoulders of yours, big guy?" She pointed at the door again. "Have at it."

* * *

Kasimir and his three flunkies came into the hotel room after him. One of the AK wielders spoke into a walkie in Russian. Chuck winced as the flash took him, and he tried to make it seem like part of his reaction to being thrown through a table. "Report, Andrey," the thug said in Russian. The flash helped Chuck follow along.

It was several long seconds before a response came, still in Russian. "All is clear as blue skies," the walkie crackled.

Kasimir half turned away from Chuck in surprise. "That is the duress code, we must go. The FBI is already here," Kasimir poked his head in Chuck's direction. "Cuff him and we take the back stairs. I'll continue my discussion with Mr. Pensov at Location Three."

Chuck shook his head, trying to clear it, and at the same time force a quick kung-fu flash, but so soon after the Intersect had given him the entire Russian language, he guessed it needed time to refresh. Chuck had never had to flash immediately and consecutively before, and he couldn't seem to focus. He struggled briefly, but one man had an AK to his forehead while the others grabbed his hands and forced them behind his back.

The metal bit into his wrists and Kasimir and his men dragged Chuck out the door. As they went, they briefly took covering positions at doorjambs and at the corners of hallways, and Chuck recognized the tactics as straight out of the Spetznaz handbook that the CIA had gotten its hands on back in '83. He blinked in surprise, barely conscious of walking into the stairwell. How did he know that? Had he flashed without realizing it, or maybe it was just a tag on the Russian language file? It didn't matter; he should be thinking of escape options, but with his hands behind his back and one of the ex-Spetznaz kept a tight grip on the back of his collar, practically dragging him down a narrow fire-staircase, Chuck decided maybe to leave it until later, when the risk of tripping and breaking his neck was lessened.

Sarah poked her head out of the bathroom when they were gone, before slipping into the hall with her Smith & Wesson drawn. She just managed to catch a glimpse of the last of the masked Russian gunmen heading into the back stairwell and made in that direction.

"FBI! Freeze!" A woman's voice shouted behind her. "Drop the weapon."

Sarah's hand shook in anger at being held up, and she very nearly tried to fight it out. Good sense prevailed, though, as did the thought of making Chuck go to her funeral. Sarah had no doubt the FBI woman would shoot her in the back if she tried it. "Okay," she said, and somehow managed to put Caitlin's accent into play. "Do not shoot me." Sarah flicked the safety on, and let her service weapon fall by the trigger guard before slowly turning. It took an effort of will not to breathe out a sigh of relief when she spotted Casey with the lady FBI agent.

"Where's your hubby?" Casey growled.

Sarah nodded down the hall. "Four men. Kalashnikovs and GSh-18s. They took him."

O'Bannon came forward and snatched Sarah's pistol away, tucking it in the small of her back. Sarah glared daggers at the woman but didn't struggle. They had contingencies for this, but she still wasn't thrilled with the idea. She just wanted to run after Chuck's captors and shoot them until she ran out of bullets.

Casey managed a decent attempt at not looking alarmed by the kidnapped-Chuck news. "You want to read her her rights?" he said instead.

"You have to save him!" Sarah protested, still maintaining her cover.

"Do we?" O'Bannon said. "Foreign national, arms dealer, wanted by Interpol, yes. He's real high on _my _list of priorities right now."

Sarah fumed for a moment, then took a different tack. "The men who have him, I believe they're human traffickers. My husband had... disagreement... with them some years ago. They are surely wanted by Interpol as well."

Casey grunted. "She's got a point, FBI."

"Whatever," O'Bannon said as she slapped the cuffs on Sarah. "Our backup is a minute out, they won't be getting away with themselves, let alone any hostages."

Sarah scowled; this was all going pineapple-shaped, and Casey wasn't helping. "Shouldn't you check with your superiors?" She said, aimed at Casey.

O'Bannon started hauling Sarah back to the elevators. "And you have the right to remain silent, I suggest you make use of it, before I accidentally run you into a door-frame a couple of times."

Casey waggled his phone at Sarah surreptitiously. "Phone's dead anyway. That was probably their fault, too?"

Sarah nodded minutely. Shifting blame for the degaussing would suit her fine, but she had to judge the nod carefully if she was going to sell it. Casey grunted, but she wasn't sure how he'd taken it, and if he'd bought the story. He'd brought it up in the first place, but he could find out from the Castle armory logs that she'd brought a degaussing charge along. It was a worry for later. Right now, Chuck was the concern. When they made it to the elevators, they found why none of them had responded to Casey's button mashing in the lobby. The traffickers had blocked open the doors to all four elevators with the trashcans located nearby for hotel patrons' convenience.

The elevator doors closed and the three of them stood in awkward silence for a moment. Sarah watched O'Bannon look Casey up and down in an approving manner, blinked, and caught her partner's eye inquisitively. Casey grunted again.

"Relax, Mrs. Pensov. We might even beat them to the lobby," he said.

O'Bannon frowned sharply. "Hey, no talking to my prisoner, NSA."

Casey rolled his eyes, but subsided. Sarah frowned at him and glanced back at the lady FBI agent. Something weird was going on between those two. Were they... _flirting?_ Was that how inter-agency flirting looked? Sarah suppressed the urge to headbutt Casey into the wall. Chuck was in danger and he was flirting with random FBI agent #2? The doors opened, and Casey grunted. "Guess we didn't beat them down here after all." He grabbed Sarah and tugged her to the side of the elevator. O'Bannon darted to the other side of the doors and the three gunmen waiting in the lobby opened fire with their AKs.

"Damn it! How many of these guys are there?" O'Bannon shouted over the gunfire. The AK bullets struck the walls they were using for cover, but the metal in the retracted elevator doors kept them safe. It was Sarah who thought to pull the emergency stop to keep them from closing. The body of the elevator itself might not be sturdy enough to hold up without the added thickness of metal the doors provided.

"Two vans!" Sarah shouted. "The drivers must have gone in once you left your man alone in the lobby."

"What! How did— that's enough out of the peanut gallery!" O'Bannon fired blindly out of the elevator with the shotgun. While she was distracted, Sarah turned to Casey, nodding her head down at her hands. He shrugged and slipped her his spare handcuff keys.

"Hold your fire!" Casey shouted. "Give us our agent, and you can have the woman."

"Hey!" Sarah and O'Bannon said in unison.

Casey shrugged. "Got any better ideas?" he said in a harsh whisper.

Sarah thickened her accent for effect. "I have the flash-bangers in my purse."

O'Bannon's mouth dropped open and she looked at the arms dealer in a whole new light. The FBI Agent tossed Sarah's purse at Casey so she could reload the shotgun. Casey held the purse out toward her like it was poisonous and Sarah felt around behind her back. She still hadn't gotten her cuffs off, but she found a flashbang and slipped it to Casey. The gunmen had let up their barrage.

"Okay!" One of them shouted in broken English. "We make trade! Do not shoot or we kill FBI man!"

Casey activated the flashbang and waited until the last second to toss it. The explosion made Sarah's ears ring, even with the elevator between her and the blast. Casey and O'Bannon charged after the blast and Sarah finally slipped her cuffs. While they were busy, Sarah levered herself up onto the handrail. From there, she popped open the maintenance hatch and shimmied up and out. She checked her purse and discovered that Casey had slipped in a spare sidearm when O'Bannon hadn't been looking. Excellent. Sarah was glad she had made the stop for sensible shoes the day before while dragging Chuck around to all the sights. Climbing up an elevator cable in heels would have been a challenge, even for her.

She wrapped her legs around the cables and they tugged at the fabric. She hoped absently that her pants wouldn't tear. It might be embarrassing running around in shredded pants, and the grease from the cables was probably going to ruin them anyway. At the second floor, she pried open the doors and went to the back stairway after the men who had stolen Chuck. The fire-door had been tampered with, and she could hear the alarm blaring when she made it to the ground floor. With her gun in hand, Sarah nudged the door open and scanned the alley. Nothing. Above the din of the fire alarm she just made out the sirens of approaching FBI and local LEOs. All hell was about to pounce on the hotel, and she needed to make good her escape quickly if she had any chance.

Sarah took the way down the alley away from the sirens. At the mouth of the alley, she scanned the cross-street. For the moment, it was clear of police cruisers or the black SUVs that NSA and FBI both favored lately, and she took her opening. She strode directly into traffic, brandishing her gun at the first vehicle that crossed her path. It was a minivan. Sarah winced as the driver slammed on the brakes and screeched to a half scant feet from hitting her.

She went up on her tiptoes briefly to peer into the backseat for any sign of children. Just the driver, no sign of carseats or any other passengers. She'd lucked out. Satisfied that she wasn't going to commit involuntary kidnapping, Sarah fired a round into the windshield safely away from the driver, but unless he was an off-duty cop or ex-military, it would unnerve the crap out of him.

He popped the door and stuck both hands out without being prompted. "Don't shoot, you can have the car. I know the drill."

Sarah arched an eyebrow; in spite of herself, and the dire situation she was curious. "This happen to you a lot?"

The man stepped out and shrugged. "More than you'd think. I don't know what it is about the Dodge Caravan and lady carjackers."

Sarah pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Wallet, cell phone."

"I said I know the drill," he said. "Try not to wreck it?"

"No promises," Sarah said. "My husband's been kidnapped."

"Oh, well good luck then," her carjack victim actually waved as she peeled out. Sarah was still a little weirded out by the encounter as she dialed Beckman's direct line.

"Beckman," came the General's voice. Sarah had debated making this call, given how the woman had seemed to quiver with glee when she'd informed the team of the Hellfire missile contingency, but she needed to get access to Chuck's GPS coordinates, and her iPhone was useless after the mishap. "This line isn't secure; who is this?"

"Walker, ma'am," Sarah said. "Code black. I need a GPS location fix for the Asset."

"What the hell happened!" Beckman growled. "You were supposed to be with him."

"I would already have reacquired him if not for the FBI. Casey's tied up with the gunmen so I'm all you've got for the moment."

"Gunmen?"

"Old friends of the Pensovs paid us a visit," Sarah said. "That's who has Chuck."

"Hang on," Beckman said, distracted by pulling up Chuck's location. "He's still in transit, where are you, so I can vector you in the right direction?"

"I'm on..." Sarah glanced at a street sign as she accelerated around a slow-moving sedan. "Hyde street, and I just passed Filbert heading north."

"They're two miles east of you, take the next right," General Beckman said.

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah tossed the phone on the passenger seat and slammed on the brakes as she turned so she wouldn't flip the stolen minivan before hammering the gas pedal to the floorboards. As the van finished the turn, Sarah's eyes went wide in horror. She'd turned onto famous Lombard Street, the one with the switchbacks. "Sonofabitch!" Sarah shouted as the van plowed through a knee-high shrubbery and cut across the first switchback. For a moment, the wheels hung in space before the van started the teeth-rattling descent.

* * *

Chuck winced as they tore the hood off his head. He glanced around, taking in his situation. He was in some kind of abandoned building, a least one or two floors up, from the feeling of heaviness he remembered in what had to have been an elevator. His new old acquaintance, Kasimir, and a handful of his goons were standing around. He blinked to get some dust or lint or something out of his eye and did a quick headcount. There had been four of them back at the hotel, but they seemed to have multiplied. He counted seven now, and couldn't start to guess at how many there could be in the entire building.

"Now, Niko," Kasimir said. "I want you to give me the data you were going to give the FBI."

Chuck frowned. "I wasn't— FBI? You mean Cavanaugh?"

"Of course, who else would I mean," Kasimir said. "Who do you think gave us tip-off—this is how you say, yes?"

Huh. Well, at least that was a big-ole capital 'Yes' on whether Cavanaugh was dirty. "He's not after the data for the FBI." Chuck said.

"You have gotten stupid, to go with new stupid face," Kasimir said and laughed at his own poor excuse for a joke. "We pay him to give to us. This I already know."

Chuck shook his head. "No, he's just using you—" his head rung and the world spun for a moment. Kasimir worked his sore hand. Chuck worked his sore jaw and his fake mustache came halfway off. The ringleader chuckled darkly.

"You look silly with mustache. I am glad it is fake," Kasimir noted. "I did not think your lovely wife would have let herself be subjected to it." He pointed to his own face, "Still, she came out better in surgery than you, yes?" He laughed again. "Enough pleasantry. Where is the data?"

"You think I'm going to tell you?"

"Eventually, yes." He said. "When we catch wife, you tell us faster, but yes. Eventually."

"Leave her out of it," Chuck said fiercely.

"That's up to you, Niko." One of his goons came up and whispered something in Kasimir's ear. "Oh, I think we have to cut this short. Alyosha, keep my friend company. The rest to your posts. I don't want to be surprised if Cavanaugh betrayed us and brought his FBI friends."

* * *

"Damn it!" Sarah groaned and kicked open the door of her stolen van. So much for not wrecking the thing. Though it had still been drivable after her ill-advised trip down Lombard, the abuse had taken its toll as she pushed the machine hard in her race toward the building where those assholes were holding her Chuck. She felt a little guilty after the man she carjacked had been so nice about the whole thing, but mostly she was angry because the van had given out half a mile from where Chuck's locator had stopped moving. It was a much less crowded section of the city, and she had yet to see a passing vehicle.

"What's wrong, Agent Walker?" Beckman said, and Sarah shrugged around the phone.

"My car just died," Sarah explained. "And I'm about half a mile away."

"I ran a background check on the address," the General said. "It's an abandoned building. If you don't have the asset back in pocket in ten minutes, I'm taking down the building."

A fist of ice clenched in Sarah's gut. "You can't; I'm right there. General, this is crazy. I can get him back."

"I know," Beckman said. "But we don't have cleaner teams to aid you in San Francisco, and Casey's tied up with the FBI cleanup at the hotel. I haven't even been able to get through to him to tell him to come help you. All the SWAT and tactical units are already deployed and FBI is being territorial and won't let me give them a direct order. That's probably Cavanaugh's doing. You're on your own, Walker. That's why I can only give you ten minutes. I never expected it to go like this, Sarah. We cannot have the Intersect in the hands of _slavers_. I'm starting a timer. My drone is already in position. If you don't have him back in ten minutes, then I'm taking the shot."

It took every ounce of willpower Sarah had not to smash the phone on the ground. She had the thing raised to do just that, but she would just have to find another after she had Chuck back. Sarah growled something incoherent and pressed the End Call button before taking off flat out down the street.

* * *

The gunman who had been stuck watching Chuck wasn't paying much attention to him. Instead the man just paced back and forth. Maybe he didn't like being a babysitter. Maybe he could use that. Chuck craned his neck to get a look at his hands. The handcuffs had been looped through the supports of the chair while he was hooded, and he was still just wearing the one pair. If he did Casey's thumb-breaking maneuver, he would only have to break the one thumb. He flashed, and images of handcuffs and anatomical diagrams of the hands flickered in his mind's eye. Imagine that.

"So, Alyosha, wasn't it?" Chuck said in English. The Russian language flash was fading out.

The gunman turned. "I'm not supposed to talk to you," he said in Russian. Chuck grimaced.

"Sorry, could we do English?" Chuck said. "The punch did something, and I'm having trouble recalling my lessons."

"What lessons," Alyosha said, in English.

"You know, spy-school," Chuck explained. The gunman frowned. Where had the man's accent gone? He sounded like an American now.

"What lessons," he said. "You are from Russia, didn't you learn—" Alyosha's eyes popped. "Spy school?"

"That's right," Chuck said. "I'm not Nikolai Pensov. He's been dead for nearly a week. Charles Carmichael, CIA. Pleased to meet you. I'd shake hands, but... you know how it is." He rattled his cuffs for emphasis.

Chuck didn't know how he expected the man to take the news, really, so the AK stock to the stomach was an unwelcome surprise. Chuck wheezed and the chair wobbled. "No more lies, Pensov."

"No lie," Chuck groaned when he got breath back in his lungs. "Promise."

"You have identification?"

"Of course not," Chuck said. "I'm undercover. What if someone searched me? Like you did when you took my gun, remember?"

Alyosha scowled. "How can I believe you, then?"

Chuck was stumped for a moment, but when the answer came to him, a plan clicked into place alongside it. "I've never had plastic surgery, lean in close. Look for yourself," Chuck said, tilting his head to expose his neck and jawline. "There aren't any scars. Even the best surgeon in the world would leave some mark if you look up close. I won't bite."

This was the moment of truth. Alyosha shrugged and leaned in. Chuck yanked his hand out of the cuffs and bit his lip. He felt blood trickling down his left wrist, but he blocked out the pain and swung with his right. His fist connected with Alyosha's jaw and knocked the man flat on his back. Chuck surged forward and looped the free cuff around his right hand in a set of makeshift brass-knuckles. He gave Alyosha another fist into his face to be sure he was out fully and not just dazed, "I will, however, prove my American-ness with the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln. 'Mama said knock you out,' ya jerk! Of course, I'm paraphrasing. And that _may_ not have been Lincoln." Chuck nudged the unconscious gunman with the toe of his shoe just to be sure, and then cuffed the free loop of metal around his right wrist alongside the first, to keep it out of the way. Finally, he clutched his bleeding left wrist to his shirt in an attempt to stanch the flow and pop his dislocated thumb back into— Wait a second. He looked at his bare left wrist. There had been a watch on that wrist a minute ago, one that he wasn't supposed to be able to take off, laced with all kinds of special gadgets... and now... he heard an ominous beeping coming from his watch. That was never a good sign.

* * *

Her stolen phone rang, and she scowled and answered without slowing her pace. "Yes?" Sarah panted. Beckman's voice was more emotional than Sarah ever remembered hearing it.

"It's too late," Beckman said, and Sarah could almost imagine the woman fighting back tears. That alone brought Sarah staggering to a stop.

"What are you talking about?" Sarah demanded. "It's only been three minutes. I'm almost at the building."

"You don't understand," the General said. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. He's dead."

"No he's not!"

"His watch, it sends telemetry. There's a heartbeat sensor. He's flat-lining."  
"Maybe they just took his watch off!" Sarah said, pleading.

"That's impossible. I gave him that new watch to make sure nothing like that happened again," Beckman said. "I'm sorry, but it's true."

"They could have just cut off his hand," Sarah said, and shuddered uncontrollably. _Just._ She nearly threw up. But if the options were Chuck being dead or Chuck being alive with only one hand, she'd take what she could get.

"The drone is ready," Beckman said. "He won't go unavenged, Sarah."

The phone fell from lifeless fingers, and her eyes immediately tracked a contrail from the rocket-motor. She couldn't make out the drone against the sunny sky, but the missile hit the building just a block ahead of her in giant bursts of dust and smoke, instead of the huge fireball that was often seen in TV and the movies yet somehow more ominous for not being as flashy. Another contrail followed, and then another, and finally a fourth, before the Predator had exhausted all its missiles. The building shuddered and began to collapse in on itself. Sarah stared at the spectacle, numb with shock. Maybe it was just denial, but her thoughts were a jumble. If she was right, and Beckman was wrong, if somehow Chuck hadn't been dead when the missiles struck... Could he have survived that? It was a fool's hope, but she found herself running again, despite the stitch in her side and the pain in her heart. She had to know.

* * *

Kasimir Fyorodenko and two of his goons went to meet Cavanaugh. The senior FBI agent and head of the San Francisco office was turned out well in a nicely tailored suit, his shoes polished nearly to a mirror sheen. He was tall, nearly six four, but not thick in proportion. He was lean, with straight brown hair and a heavy beard. "You came alone?" Fyorodenko asked in his thick Russian accent.

"Of course," Cavanaugh said tartly. "I bring any of my field office here, and I might as well shoot myself in the head. An FBI agent in prison doesn't last long, even if they put me in AdSeg. You got your hands on the data?"

"No, but is only a matter of time," Kasimir said. "We have Pensov, and he will talk. He is not so tough when he does not have sniper rifle."

"I almost forgot you two have quite the history," Cavanaugh said, not about to tell Fyorodenko that he had the wrong man.

"Yes. An inch to the right and I would have died in the North Sea on that freighter with all my men," Kasimir said, rubbing the old wound.

"Anyway. Time is something we don't have," Cavanaugh said. "My people scooped up two of your men. No doubt those men know all about this location, and they'll deal the information for a lesser sentence."

Kasimir laughed a loud guffaw. "They will not talk. They are Russian... and Ukrainian."

"Everybody talks," Cavanaugh said it like a mantra, but Kasimir laughed again.

"Your FBI cannot play so rough as FSB, let alone SVR. They are well trained, all of them, to withstand torture. Your American prisons are like vacation. They will not talk."

"There's an NSA liaison to my team. You may have heard of him: John Casey?"

Kasimir blinked. "Yes," he said and glanced at his watch. "Him, I have heard of. They will talk. How long until he can get them alone?"

Cavanaugh shrugged. "Ten minutes? I don't know exactly."

"Then we must be gone in twelve," Kasimir said. "Just to be safe. Evgeniy, Feliks: Go get our guest."

Cavanaugh punched Kasimir gently in the shoulder to get his attention. He pointed in shock. A tall, lean man with an AK strapped to his back landed and rolled in the dirt behind the building; he got back to his feet without losing a step and sprinted off. The man must have jumped from one of the upper floors, and now he had smoothly vaulted an eight-foot chain-link fence and was running for shelter in the construction site next door.

Kasimir's jaw dropped in recognition. "Nikolai!" he shouted and drew his gun, taking aim. "Stop or I will shoot!"

One of the goons, either Evgeniy or Feliks—Cavanaugh had no way of knowing—frowned. "Do you hear that? Like whistling? Something is—"

The building shook with the concussion, a second roar a split-second after the first. Dust billowed everywhere. "Missiles!" In the confusion of dust and the roar of explosions, Cavanaugh just managed to stagger out, coughing. It felt like his lungs were filled to bursting with dust and grime. He'd never smoked a cigarette in his life, but he suddenly knew how carton-a-day smokers must feel.

Someone was yelling nearby, into a walkie— Kasimir, he realized. Cavanaugh blinked, and a pair of SUVs materialized through the dust haze to mow down the chain-link fence. He swiped at his eyes and staggered toward Fyorodenko, pulling his service weapon awkwardly. This whole mess was coming unglued, and he couldn't afford to be found here. The explosions would draw every law enforcement agency in the state, fire and rescue, even the media! When they got here, he needed to be the hero, or he would be just one of the perpetrators.

He paused to make sure the safety was off, and the action hadn't been clogged by the dust, before pointing his Glock at Kasimir's head from point blank range. A bolt of pain shot through his arm, and the impact jarred the pistol from his grip. Then he heard the gunshot. He clutched at his wounded arm in shock, while a dust-covered man with an AK walked up and cracked him in the face with his rifle stock. Cavanaugh's vision blurred and he tried to blink dust and blood out of his eyes.

Kasimir turned and grinned at the man. "Evgeniy! You save my life, double pay for you!" His expression turned on a dime as he spun on his heel to face Cavanaugh, who was crouching like a toad. "I never should have trust FBI," he spat, and racked the action of his pistol to chamber a round. "This is how you say: You live, you learn, yes?" The grin came back, but it was dark and didn't really touch his eyes. "Well, I learn, at any rate."

Cavanaugh's eyes widened. "Wait, no!" Blackness took him.

* * *

Chuck slung the AK off his back and checked the action, patting the tactical vest he'd stolen along with it to check to make sure he hadn't lost any of his spare magazines in the roll or the fence-jump. He smacked himself in the forehead. "LL Cool J! That's who it was; I was way off!" he whispered hoarsely, and sang a few bars of the song under his breath before yanking back on the loading lever and shouldering his rifle.

There was a decent breeze, helping to dispel the thick cloud of dust, and he could make out a couple of man sized shapes. It didn't look like they had spotted him again, and so far there hadn't been any gun— the sound of the gunshot brought Chuck's eyes to a tableau. He just recognized the man from his personnel photo as Jim Cavanaugh, when one of Chuck's kidnappers pointed his gun at the man, down on the ground and no longer a threat.

"No!" Chuck shouted and opened fire without thinking about it. His first five round burst went high and wide to the right, and then he couldn't keep track of anything anymore. At least two of the men were shooting back at him now. Chuck had no idea if he'd managed to save Cavanaugh's life or not, but he had to hope. He tried to conserve ammunition, firing in short bursts instead of just going full-auto and praying for the best. Bullets pinged off concrete near him, or spalled against the wooden frame of the incomplete walls around him. More bullets thwacked into the pile of stacked two-by-four boards where he'd taken cover, and Chuck ducked down further. He was about eighty percent sure he hadn't hit anyone at all.

He hadn't had any real training with assault rifles outside Call of Duty. Chuck assumed it should be similar to his pistol training, or even easier, really. But the kick and the noise and the muzzle flare were all much greater than he was expecting, and even firing in those short bursts, most of his shots had gone wild. Also, he was pretty sure he was going to go into shock any minute. It was rather surprising it hadn't already happened. Now that he let himself think about anything other than firing the AK he'd pilfered off his babysitter, Chuck's head started throbbing from the repeated flashes over the last few minutes. The crackle of weapons fire from back the way he'd come certainly wasn't doing him any good either.

Chuck put the assault rifle back up and spun out of cover to fire another three-or-four round burst, but the rifle just clicked, and the action locked back on an empty chamber, so he sighed and ducked back down to reload. "That was fast. Has that been thirty already?"

* * *

The continuing sound of automatic weapons fire drew Sarah like a moth to flame, and put a beatific grin on her face. He was alive! Who else would the bad guys be shooting at. But judging by the volume of fire, Chuck could use all the help he could get. Sarah reached for her stolen cell phone to call the General—certainly not to gloat—and came up empty. Crap. She'd dropped it after... Sarah sighed and glanced back down the street, but there was a lull in the gunfire and there was no way she was going to move _away _from Chuck as he fought for his life.

Sarah stuck her head through the strap of her purse, so that she was wearing it more like a messenger bag, and ran forward in a crouch, coming around the side of the missile-blasted ruin of a building. She kept low and ducked behind parked cars in the parking lot, peeking out of cover every now and then as she went. The gunfire was trailing off, and Sarah heard someone shouting in Russian. She couldn't quite make him out over the gunfire, but it had to have been a cease-fire order, because abruptly it cut off entirely.

Then there was a brief burst of fire from the construction site next door to the building Beckman had shot with her Predator drone, and Sarah winced. Chuck had just pinpointed his location for his attackers. That had probably been the entire reason for the cease-fire, and sure enough, after a couple of barked orders, two of the gunmen opened up again in long drawn out bursts, one after the other to cover the other's reloading. It was poorly aimed if at all, just designed to keep Chuck's head down while the others went around and flanked him. Sarah eyeballed the distance at forty to fifty yards, which was extreme range for a pistol. Even a sharpshooter of Sarah's caliber would just have to aim center of mass and trust to luck at that range, and she didn't want to leave Chuck's rescue to chance. She heard sirens in the distance, and made up her mind.

Still keeping low so the gunmen couldn't see her, Sarah got as close to the building where Chuck had taken shelter as she could before rooting around in her purse. Her foresight in choosing to bring the big purse with all the pockets was vindicated once again, despite the teasing Chuck had given her before they had left the hotel. She quickly found her other two flashbangs, but held one in reserve, just in case. It took a full-armed throw, but she managed to land the explosive a dozen yards in front of the two closest gunmen attempting to flush out Chuck. The explosion kicked up another brief cloud of dust, and Sarah used the cover to run for the half-built building where her boyfriend had holed up.

She clambered through a window that had yet to receive its glass or any other fixtures and crouched down behind sheetrock leaning against the frame wall. "Chuck, I'm here. Don't shoot," she said, raising her voice to carry over the gunfire. Sarah inched her way closer and then rolled up next to Chuck behind the pile of two-by-fours.

"Nice timing," Chuck said and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Oh thank God, you're alright!" Sarah said, holding back a sob of relief as she latched her arms around him. They didn't have time for any bigger reunion, but Chuck was always a talker, even in the middle of a firefight.

"How'd you find me?" he said and sprayed a quick burst blindly over their cover. "My phone's trashed and my watch is over in the debris pile."

Sarah poked her gun around the corner of the woodpile left-handed and squeezed off two rounds at the flanking gunmen. "You're never hard to find, sweetie. Just follow the gunfire and the angry Russians."

"Technically, most of them are from the Ukraine," Chuck said.

"Well at least you're still up to being a know-it-all," Sarah said, emptying her clip and managing to take down one of the flankers coming from the left. He screamed and clutched at a sucking chest-wound. "I'm just glad they didn't cut off your hand. How _did_ you get loose, anyway? And where's your watch! Beckman thought they'd killed you, so she launched the strike out of some kind of crazy revenge scheme."

"Dislocated my thumb," Chuck said while he reloaded. "Then slipped the cuffs. The watch took some skin when it came off at the same time."

Sarah gave him a wan smile. He laid down covering fire while she reloaded. "You didn't break your thumb like Casey told you?"

Chuck shrugged and ducked back down. "Casey just likes to break things in general," he tapped the side of his head. "That and his training isn't up to date. Recovery doesn't take weeks this way. And I thought I might need both hands to fight my way past all the bad guys."

"Come on, we need to get out of here," Sarah said. "Two on the right!"

Chuck rippled off a long burst that had the right-side flankers scrambling for cover. Sarah took the last flashbang out of her purse and lobbed it over the cover the gunmen were using. While technically non-lethal, at such close range, both men would be laid up for days. They were effectively out of the fight.

Chuck and Sarah used the explosion for cover to move, falling back deeper into the half-built structure. "Upstairs," Sarah insisted, pushing Chuck ahead of her. She turned back and double tapped a gunman in the chest as he came in. He just staggered backward with the impact, and started to pull his rifle back in line. Kevlar. Sarah knelt flat on the steps to reduce her profile, adjusted aim and put two through the armored gunman's head before following Chuck up onto the second floor.

"Where to now?" Chuck asked. "We're kind of trapped."

"Police will be here soon," Sarah said. "We just have to hold them off 'til then. Don't you hear the sirens?"

"My ears aren't up to the really high frequency stuff at the moment, hon," he said, louder than necessary, as if to underscore the point.

"We need to find better cover. This floor is pretty sparse, look around," Sarah said. "Here give me the rifle." She held out her service weapon to trade, but Chuck waved it off and produced the Five seveN she'd given him earlier back in the van.

"Where'd you hide that?" Sarah asked. "Or do I want to know?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and handed over the two remaining spare magazines for the Kalashnikov. "You carry flashbangs in your purse?"

Sarah just frowned at him, as if that should have been a perfectly obvious assumption for him to have made. "Hi, have you met me?" She stuffed the spare AK ammo in her purse.

A shout came from the lower floor. "Give up and we let you live," Chuck recognized the voice as Kasimir's and went back to searching for effective cover. "I have grenades too..." the ringleader said in a singsong. "And not the little piss-bangs either."

Sarah responded by emptying her entire magazine into the floor at an angle, spraying the area by the stairs, where it seemed the voice was coming from.

"Psst!" Chuck said, jerking his head toward a half-finished doorway. "Bathtub?"

Sarah nodded and trotted over, reloading as she went. Chuck climbed in and laid down, before Sarah clambered in on top, legs straddling him. It was awkward trying to decide where to put the assault rifle, until she settled for just wedging it in along his side. She rested her head on his chest for just a brief moment. "Not how I wanted our first bath together to go," Chuck whispered, and Sarah laughed despite everything.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," Sarah said softly.

"What, back in the van?" Chuck said quizzically. Sarah nodded. "Were you worrying about that? It was a tense situation. I got that. I was being a brat anyway," Chuck said. He blinked. "Which _I_'m sorry about, by the way."

"I love you," Sarah smiled fondly. The bathtub rocked with the blast from Kasimir's first toss, and there was a soft tinkling sound as fragments caromed off the outside of the bathtub. They heard him order his men to advance, Sarah popped up over the rim of the tub and scanned for a target. Once she spotted one, she blasted away with short bursts until the slide locked back on an empty chamber. Sarah ejected the clip and Chuck passed her a spare magazine from her purse.

"Last one," Chuck said. He peeked over their cover momentarily and froze in place as a flash surged through him. Sarah shoved him back down angrily when he stayed up longer than a split-second, but her expression shifted when she took in his fluttering eyelids. She arched an eyebrow. "Did you just..."

"Yep, HRT training and small unit tactics."

Her grin nearly split her face. "Let's go to work then," she said, when an electronically amplified voice blared.

"This is the San Francisco Police Department! Come out with your hands up!"

"This is the FBI! Don't you _make_ me come in there!" Sarah recognized that second announcement as Casey's lady-FBI-buddy, and grinned. Beckman must have gotten through to Casey somehow after all.

"Yob tvoyu mat!" Kasimir shouted at the sky. "Alright! Alright, do not shoot. We surrender!"

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief. That grenade had been a little too close for comfort. In the same zip-code was too close, but _still_.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Look at that, I even spared you the natural mean cliffhanger about halfway through the chapter.

Now back to the salt mines. I need to finish that pesky thesis. I also need reviews. They make me write more, if not better.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: The team makes a last ditch effort to salvage the mission, and Beckman comes to a decision regarding Chuck's monitoring protocols.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.

* * *

Chapter 23:

* * *

Chuck had never really been fond of the phrase, 'all over but the shouting,' because really, who likes getting shouted at? Certainly not Charles Bartowski, though Casey seemed to have some kind of fetish in that regard. Kasimir and his goons had given up without a fight, and the insanity was pretty much done with for the day. Knock on wood. Sarah had tossed her guns down outside the tub, and they'd just waited for someone to come collect them. It was the local SWAT team that came in first, and Chuck and Sarah quickly found themselves cuffed in the back of a police cruiser while the inter-agency brouhaha got settled. He pursed his lips. "Hey, Sarah, what's the proper term for what's going on out there with all the yelling?"

Sarah frowned and leaned to peer out the window for a better view. Casey was gesticulating wildly, and the FBI agent Chuck had briefly impersonated was wagging his finger in the Colonel's face. A couple of the SFPD SWAT team members were standing around in their black combat fatigues, flanking a graying man in police dress blues, maybe a captain, or a deputy chief. Sarah grunted. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, at first I thought brouhaha, but I don't know if it really hits all the right nuances. Kerfuffle doesn't work because nobody out there could be considered 'fluffy' in any of the possible meanings of the word. And then there's commotion, but I think that's underselling it a bit, so I'm kind of struggling here to say just what that is going on out there."

Sarah laughed and shook her head slightly, then grimaced as her cuffs cut into her wrist. "It's FUBAR is what it is."

"Come on that's not even a word. You made that up," Chuck protested.

Sarah smirked and nudged him with her shoulder. "Ask Casey; it's Marine Corps slang. I promise," she said.

"Okay then, what does FUBAR mean," Chuck insisted.

"Ask Casey," Sarah said, and stuck her tongue out at him. "I mean, assuming he can fix this whole debacle before we starve to death in the back of this police car."

"Debacle! Perfect!" Chuck said, nudging her with a shoulder in congratulation. She fixed him with a steely glare, and he cleared his throat. "Well, I doubt we'd starve to death," Chuck said, "I mean if it came down to a survival situation, we'd just slip the cuffs and drive off in our shiny new police car."

"No more stealing cars for a while, Chuck," she said, "I feel bad about wrecking that one guy's minivan."

"Didn't he have insurance?"

"You know, in frantically racing to save you from the bad bad men with the big big guns, it sort of slipped my mind to ask."

Chuck frowned. "Seriously? That would have been a great one-liner for when he asked you not to wreck it. 'You've got insurance, right?' I can't believe you let that golden opportunity slip through your fingers."  
"One-liners aren't really my thing, Chuck. Do I look like Casey?" she said, and then glared molten death at him. "Don't you dare answer that."

Chuck pressed his lips together to avoid cracking a grin. "Wouldn't dream of it," Chuck said. "Scout's honor."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You never made it past Webelos," she said. "You quit because your dad made you sew on your own badges and you were afraid of needles."

His face collapsed. "How do you know that! No one knows that except— I'm going to kill Ellie."

Sarah laughed. "No, no, it wasn't Ellie. The Boy Scouts of America keep surprisingly detailed records of those sort of things. I bet you were cute in your scouts uniform."

"I grew about a foot and a half since then, so don't get any ideas," Chuck grinned. That was usually the kind of comment that would earn him a punch in the arm, but with both of their hands cuffed behind their backs he figured he was safe. "Ow! You kicked me!"

"You'll live."

* * *

Casey glanced over at the cruiser where Bartowski and Walker were obviously arguing about something. What else was new? He checked his watch and saw that there were still a few minutes to go before the paperwork got there. He suppressed a sigh. "I think we can all agree this is a federal matter? FBI?"

O'bannon growled something under her breath, "Yes. No offense, Chief," she said. "But all our suspects in custody are foreign nationals. Makes them Federal, one of the dead is an FBI Agent. Not that your SWAT guys aren't super intimidating, but this scene is mine."

Casey cleared his throat. "That remains to be seen; OPR is going to want to talk to everybody, since the SAC was involved on the side of the fallen angels," he shrugged toward the representative of the San Francisco PD. "If I were you, I'd just call it a day and get as far away as I could."

O'Bannon grunted. "Yeah, why don't you then?"

"I'm waiting for someone," Casey said. "Seriously. The Office of Professional Responsibility is nobody's idea of a good time. It's like internal affairs but they get all the best toys."

The SWAT commandos shuffled their feet, not liking the sound of that. "Fine, I wash my hands of this whole clusterfuck. All yours FBI," the Deputy Chief said, turned on his heels and waved up the locals. There were still about two dozen FBI agents running around collecting samples and maybe a dozen other various and sundry tasks, and the crime scene techs were already underfoot. He'd have to do something about that.

Casey scanned the crime scene and sighed aloud in relief when he spotted the black Crown Vic pulling up. "Aha... here we go."

A slightly pudgy, middle aged man in a cheap suit walked up with a handful of envelopes. "Colonel Casey?" he asked.

John raised his hand and the man tossed him a manila envelope, then started passing out white envelopes to all the representatives of different agencies. Walsh and O'Bannon got one, the fire fighters, paramedics and the man from the Coroner's Department all got one. The pudgy guy frowned, coming up with one extra. "Where's Deputy Chief Newman?"

Casey pointed. "The SFPD has quit the field already, no need to bother him. Everyone, open your envelopes!" He waited a moment. "Anyone care to read theirs aloud?"

O'Bannon scowled. "Fine: Lieutenant Colonel John Casey, NSA, is given complete operational control of the investigation into the events of... what the hell is this." She obviously skipped to the bottom, and Casey gave a disappointed grunt. He would have liked a full recital of the powers granted him by supreme executive authority. "By order of the president? This is a joke, right?"

"What, you don't recognize Obama's signature?" Casey grinned and turned to point at one of the knot of civil servants. "Coroner's Department: hold notification on SAC Cavanaugh's death. He's alive until I say otherwise. Everybody else, carry on." He waved them away. "FBI: you want to join me as I speak briefly to the Pensovs?"

Walsh frowned. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I guess you can come too..." he said. "That's what I've been calling your partner. Force of habit. Come on." Casey said and led the way over to the police cruiser, where the arms dealers were being switched into FBI custody. "Okay, ...Walsh, O'Bannon, take custody of the prisoners. Whoever you two are, get lost."

The pair of affronted junior FBI agents started to protest, but Walsh waved them to silence. Eventually Team Bartowski and the pair of senior FBI agents were alone, out of earshot of pretty much anyone else on the massive crime scene. "Special agents Walsh, O'Bannon..." he said, tearing open his envelope and dumping out the contents. He found the proper items inside, and looped the lanyards over Chuck and Sarah's heads so that their CIA credentials hung proudly on display. "Un-cuff agents Walker and Carmichael please?"

"You son of a bitch," O'Banon said. "Damn CIA spooks; what the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"Well, that's obvious," Chuck said. "Espionage. That's kind of... where the word... Spy... comes from, right? Isn't that right, Casey?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Don't get cute with me, CIA. Walsh, you mind un-cuffing them?"

Sarah grinned. "That's okay, I got it," she said and handed her restraints to a completely flabbergasted Special Agent Walsh. Chuck grimaced and was a couple seconds behind her getting out of his cuffs unaided.

"How the hell?"

"Trade secret," Casey said a second ahead of Chuck, who ended up standing with his mouth open for a moment awkwardly, his quip stolen. "And look who missed a step," he said with a condescending grin.

Chuck frowned and pointed at his bandaged wrist. "Come on, I'm wounded here; cut me some slack."

"Alright, we need to read the Feebs in a little on what was actually going on," Casey said.

Sarah eyed the two FBI agents skeptically. "You trust them?" she asked. "After today, how can you trust anyone at the FBI? It's not like they have a great track record. There were at least half a dozen Fulcrum agents recruited from there."

"And, something like, five times that many CIA," Casey shot back. "To only zero out of the NSA. As the kids say, booyah."

Chuck raised his hand to interject. "Um, nobody says booyah anymore, except middle-aged out-of-touch NSA agents. Also, it just makes you seem even older anytime you say 'the kids say.' Just you know, FYI."

A low growl from the back of Casey's throat backed Chuck up an involuntary step, and letting loose a little of his angry center seemed to help. Casey grinned and waved for everyone to follow him. "Okay," he said as they walked. "Someone murdered your arms dealers, and their CIA handler a week ago, give or take. Most likely Cavanaugh, but we don't know for sure, so." Casey stopped at the coroner's van that was getting ready to take the body away before he stopped them. The Colonel waved the medical examiners away peremptorily and unzipped the bodybag. He glanced at the body. "Walsh, grab his phone and his PDA; see if you can find his appointment calendar. He's got to have the meet with whoever he was working with in there somewhere, probably in the next couple hours. We need to be there to nab them."

"Hang on, hang on, hang on," O'Bannon protested. "He wasn't just working with Fyorodenko and his goons?"

"From what I saw, they were working _for _Cavanaugh. Not with him," Chuck put in. "That line up with anything you saw from your end, John?"

"Pretty much," Casey admitted. "Once we know when and where, we just need to figure out who we can get to pose as Cavanaugh to go to the meet." He looked down at Cavanaugh in earnest for thefirst time. And he grunted. The number 5; genuine surprise. "Well, I guess that settles that. Walker, take a look."

Sarah took a glance and arched an eyebrow, stepped out of the way to let Walsh and O'Bannon see. After a moment, the four Federal Agents were all staring at Chuck. He swallowed nervously. "What? Seriously, _what_?"

She frowned and put her hand over Chuck's mouth, muffling his continued questioning. "What do you two think?" she aimed at Walsh and O'bannon.

Walsh looked from the dead body of their corrupt former boss, to Chuck, and back. With Agent Walker's hand substituting for the beard, it was a decent likeness. "We'd have to do something about the hair. Much too curly."

Chuck pulled Sarah's hand away from his mouth. "Would somebody kindly explain to me what you're talking about?"

"Stop being such a _girl, _Carmichael," Casey said. "Look at the poor bastard."

He finally did, and groaned to himself. "Aw, hell. We had to find _my_ doppelganger first, and not Sarah's?" After a moment, when everyone looked at him like he was crazy, he grumped on, crossing his arms over his chest. "You _all_ need to read more comic books."

* * *

Chuck scratched his head, finger roaming under the itchy wig. He didn't know how Sarah managed when she had to wear a wig for a mission. It was awful, absolutely awful. And the fake beard wasn't much better, though he was afraid to scratch that. He might tear off the spirit gum holding things in place, and that would be a perfect patch on everything. It was just mind-boggling that after the running gun-battle, the botched meeting, and everything else, his day wasn't over. Now he was pretending to be a corrupt FBI Special Agent whom he happened to slightly resemble. "Stop that," Casey's voice came into his radio earpiece. "You'll just make the itching worse. And don't respond to what I'm saying. The Ring could have eyes on you already. Just stay put and wait. Two more minutes."

"Casey and I both have sniper rifles. If anything happens, just hit the ground and we'll take it from there," Sarah's voice said in his ear. "Relax, Chuck. You're freaking out."

"You always have to give him a pep talk before a mission like this?" O'Bannon said through the comms.

"No," Chuck said at the same time that Casey said, "Yes," and Sarah said, "Sometimes."

Chuck turned subtly so he could grimace in the direction of his FBI tormentor. Walsh and O'Bannon were sitting at a nearby coffee house as rapid response backup. "Thanks a lot guys," he said.

"Shut your trap, Carmichael," Casey growled. "They might be watching. What did I say? Don't answer that."

Chuck sighed heavily and plopped himself down on a park bench. Stupid FBI guys. Stupid Casey. He scanned the park surreptitiously, looking for anyone suspicious. Although, really, what was he supposed to find suspicious? The Ring agents he'd met personally so far, had looked as normal as anyone else... for the most part. That Hugo Panzer guy had been built like three brick houses, and a granite cooktop, but other than him, they had all been normal. "All right, take two," Chuck said under his breath. "Hopefully, less gunfire this time."

Still, even looking for normal people, Chuck was a little surprised when a balding man in his late forties wearing those circular-framed old-fashioned glasses sat down next to him on the bench. "You came alone," the man said. "As we instructed?"

Chuck nodded. "Of course. Shouldn't you have had some kind of secret code-phrase, like: 'the swallows fly south for the winter'? And I'm supposed to say: 'But the hawks nest here all year 'round'?"

"You watch too many bad spy movies, Mr. Cavanaugh," the balding man said with a grunt of a laugh. "Why don't we get down to business?"

"About that," Chuck said. "I think we need to renegotiate terms. There was a higher degree of difficulty than expected."

Baldy snorted. "This is why nobody likes the FBI. When they're honest, they're too honest. And when they're corrupt, they're too corrupt. The agreed-upon rate will be transferred to your off-shore account as soon as I verify the data. Not a penny more, you greedy bastard." The man poked a gun into Chuck's ribs. "Fork it over."

"Come on," Chuck said, resting his hands on his knees. "There's no need for guns. They make me uncomfortable."

"You're FBI, and you don't like guns?" The Ring operative said. "I can't believe it. Cowboy up, Cavanaugh."

"Thumb drive in my left coat pocket," Chuck said. "Unless you feel weird rummaging another man's pockets, have at it."

The man leaned across to reach into Chuck's pocket, without moving the gun an inch. He jerked and his hand went to his right ear. Chuck's eyes widened. "Where?" The Ring agent breathed, eyes darting around, searching. Shit.

Chuck yanked his arm back, a purely reflexive movement, cracking his elbow into the Ring Agent's wrist. The gun went off, and all hell broke loose.

"Oh my God," Sarah whispered when the sound of the gunshot reverberated through her earpiece. She keyed her microphone. "Chuck get down!"

Pulling the charging handle to chamber a round, Sarah took aim at the Ring agent sharing the bench with Chuck, but they were engaged hand-to-hand, moving wildly and erratically and she wouldn't risk the shot. She flicked her sight across the park, looking for other targets. Someone had tipped Cavanaugh's contact, and she needed to know— she spotted the glint of a rifle scope and her eyes widened. They were aiming at _her. _Glass erupted around her as the window shattered, and she rolled aside. That sniper was _good_. Sarah was fifteen stories up, and nearly a block and a half away.

Her rangefinder was set for 200 yards, which wasn't quite accurate, but good enough for government work as the saying went. The man had proper training, police at least, possibly military. Sarah growled and put her rifle back into her shoulder, trying to reestablish a sight picture, but the roll had knocked her scope out of alignment. "Damn it, Casey," she spat. "Technical difficulties and I'm taking fire. North side of the park, he's set up in the bushes just to the left of the elm trees."

"My left or your—never mind, I see him," Casey said. "Tango down."

"Chuck, are you alright?" Sarah said, while fiddling with the scope on her rifle.

There was muffled static, then a grunt from Chuck's earpiece. "I'm— a little busy!"

Sarah abandoned her realignment for a moment, snatched her spotting glasses from around her neck and quickly found Chuck, trying to fight his way out of a side-headlock.

* * *

The fight was, to put it in the most favorable light possible, not going exactly to plan. Thankfully the Ring agent's bullet had missed, so there was that. That was the entire bright side. Sarah would have been super-pissed if he'd gotten himself shot, light Kevlar under his suit coat or not. Chuck ducked a punch and drove his knee into the Ring agent's gut. The man broke the clinch and staggered back a couple steps. Chuck went for his tranq pistol, but the balding Ring Agent smacked it out of his hand, then flicked his wrist and brandished a metal telescoping baton. "You're not Cavanaugh," the Ring agent growled.

Chuck tapped a finger to his nose and pointed with his free hand. "Give the man a kewpie doll, he got it in one. Heyo—" Chuck said as he jumped back and the baton whipped through the air where his head had been. _Now would be the perfect time for a kung-fu flash, Intersect._ But instead of a burst of kung-fu know-how, Chuck winced against a burst of static. Fragments of images flicked past his eyes and he staggered forward, blundering into the man's attack. It was just blind luck that his outstretched hand managed to partially absorb the baton swing. Chuck shook the blistering images out of his head and drove his knee forward again. His opponent blocked easily and Chuck grit his teeth and kept wading forward anyway. He could still barely see after the flash misfire, and holy-what-the-hell was that all about, anyway? But he couldn't afford to waste time thinking about that right now. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut and flopped around like a wet noodle, but somehow got a grip on the baton and wrestled it away.

The Ring agent rolled with the loss of his weapon, didn't even miss a beat, and put Chuck in a headlock, slowly cutting off oxygen to his brain. His head still ringing from the flash that wasn't, he grunted and punched wildly. "Chuck are you alright?"

"I'm a little busy!" he spat, arms flailing helplessly.

"Hit him in the balls, Chuck," Sarah's voice suggested. The Ring agent pinned one of Chuck's arms as well, making a bad position even more precarious.

With his eyesight dwindling, he still had a moment to gasp "I knew that," before he shot an uppercut between the man's legs with his free hand.

"_Who_syourmama—" the Ring Agent wheezed, his eyes crossed and he slowly toppled over, making no effort whatsoever to break his fall.

"Ow," Casey's voice said with evident amusement. "That looked like it hurt. Drag him behind some cover and stay down. Walker, you get eyes on that second sniper?"

"Two o'clock your position, eighth floor," Sarah replied.

"Got him," Casey shot back, and Chuck heard the sound of the gunshot through his earpiece. Even suppressed, it was clearly audible from that close up. But he couldn't hear the shot unaided, and it all felt very alien and surreal. "Tango down," Casey said again. Someone had just died, but Chuck had no reference point, huddling behind a concrete planter with his subdued Ring agent. Somehow it was worse _not _being actively involved in the fight, having to listen in on radio messages and figure it out second-hand. Chuck felt a little queasy at the thought.

"FBI! Freeze!" Someone said, and Chuck massaged his throat and let out a sigh, slumping against his cover gratefully. Letting someone else handle the rest was all well and good.

Walsh and O'Bannon had spotted the Ring's backup team, and managed to disable the vehicle before they could escape. Chuck vaguely remembered hearing gunshots in the distance, and that explained a lot. Other than the man Chuck had somehow managed to subdue without the Intersect's help, the multi-agency team-up had only managed to bring in one other agent alive.

When Sarah and Casey came down from their sniper-perches Chuck had to fight the urge to rush over and hug them both, though Casey was kind of an afterthought. "So... that kind of went tits-up in a hurry," Casey said. Sarah rolled her eyes and looked Chuck over surreptitiously.

"I guess. We can still get something from the interrogations though, right?" Chuck said. Casey glared at him and cut his eyes at the FBI. "Uh, right. How does jurisdiction on this work?"

"You two get back to Langley. I'll check in with you when you get off the plane," Casey said. Chuck frowned in confusion for a moment, and Sarah's glare as good as said out loud 'play along,' so he wiped his face free of his addled expression as best he could.

"About that? Could we at least get some money for cab-fare or something?" Chuck said.

* * *

Beckman had their conference call sent to the plane back to Burbank. "Chuck, I'm glad you're okay. You gave us all a scare, and..." she paused, her usual stern expression oddly different. It was still stern, but there was something else. "I may have gone overboard with the watch."

"Well, I'm not going to say I told you so," Chuck said, "Ma'am. Except that I just did, but don't you think maybe I deserve an apology for jumping the gun with the missile strike? And I'm going to shut up."

Beckman nodded curtly. "In hindsight, locking the watch and all of my precautions were... ill-conceived. I've been underestimating your effectiveness in the field, Chuck, and I do apologize. I have perhaps been over-vigilant in my attempts to protect the Intersect. So, in light of this fact, we're going back to the old system. Agent Walker, the courier should have given you a package when you boarded. It contains a new tracking watch for Agent Bartowski, without all the paranoid anti-tampering devices. Though your status is still in flux, you have proven yourself to be an asset to the team, in more than just name."

Chuck grinned. He couldn't help himself. "Thank you General. It's a load off my mind, that there won't be any more predator drones flying overhead."

"Oh, don't misunderstand," Beckman said. "The drone stays. But the responsibility is yours now, Chuck, like it would be if a fully-trained agent was host for the Intersect."

Sarah tensed instantly. "General, I don't think Chuck is ready for—"

"I disagree, Agent Walker," Beckman said. "And I outrank you substantially. "Get out the watch please."

Sarah found the watch and her eyes popped. It was an old Casio wrist-calculator watch. "Ma'am?" Sarah said. Beckman waved for her to put the watch on him. It was a weird indeterminate gesture, more a 'get on with it' than a specific 'put the watch on' movement, but Sarah got the point, and strapped the very nerdy, very 'Chuck' watch to his wrist. Or she started to before she remembered the bandages and made him give her the other wrist. Chuck felt weird with a watch on his right hand, like he was balanced wrong and would topple over when he tried to walk. It was just his imagination, probably, but he was still hoping his wrist would heal quickly, and he could go back to normal in a week or so. When he finally got the watch situated properly, Beckman went on.

"Chuck," I'm placing a great deal of trust in you. If you are captured and feel that you are compromised beyond hope of rescue, it is up to you to input the launch authorization for the drone. If you can affect an escape by other means, do so, but the final decision lies with you. There's a list of codes you should look over, in the manual."

Chuck stared at the new watch for a moment in shock. He was conflicted. One part of him was scared completely crazy at the idea of ordering the Hellfire strike himself, but another tiny part of him was doing a happy dance that this was a watch whose location data he could spoof and spend time with Sarah whenever he wanted. He hoped Beckman couldn't see that part of his thought process. "So, what about the mission?"

Beckman shrugged. "Nobody wins them all, Chuck," she said, "Though your team has come close. The window has closed now, and it will be impossible to take down the Ring in one bold stroke as we had intended. Still, everybody is coming home in one piece, and we've captured more Ring agents to interrogate. Take a few days, Chuck. You deserve some rest. Try not to flash if you can help it. Agent Walker, there's something that we should discuss in private, but it'll keep. Monday morning in Castle," she said ominously. "We need to talk."

Chuck and Sarah exchanged worried glances once the monitor cut out, and they didn't talk much on the plane ride back to Burbank.

* * *

They didn't talk much on the drive back to Chuck's place either, merely holding hands tenaciously. Sarah drove carefully, keeping herself within ten miles an hour of the speed limit, so that she could drive one-handed, her free hand flitting from steering wheel to gearshift and back when necessary. Chuck thought better of discouraging her. He trusted her not to crash, and gave her hand an extra squeeze as they turned onto his street.

It was only when Sarah parked the Porsche, a couple blocks from Casa Bartowski/Grimes to be safe, that they really spoke again. He needed a better name for it than that, but he was fried from the mission, and that was really the point.

"Uh, Sarah. What exactly am I supposed to tell Morgan about this weekend? Now that I have my phone back, look: he called me like thirty times."

Sarah thought about it. "The official cover is that Casey dragged you off fishing this weekend, and he threw your phone in the lake when you kept trying to check your email."

Chuck frowned. "And how do I explain the fact that I still have a phone?"

"You stopped at the Apple store on the way home, and got a new one, obviously," Sarah said. "Are you okay? Usually the simple stuff I don't have to explain."

"Sorry, yeah. I'm just still processing. I'm conflicted. No uncrackable tracking watch, so our escape plan just got simpler, but the Ring is still out there. I thought, if this worked and we stopped them, it'd change things. We could just disappear and I wouldn't feel like crap for deserting."

"Chuck, it doesn't have to all be on your shoulders. I love you for trying, but sweetie, this country got by without an Intersect for two hundred years. It'll all work out, if we have to run," she paused. "All the good we've done, we deserve to be a little selfish once in a while."

"You're right, Sarah. I guess I'm just not used to losing. We stopped the bad guys and all, but we still lost. It's not supposed to go that way. The bad guys didn't really lose anything, did they?"

"Sure, they did. The guy you nabbed is a big fish, Chuck. Just because Shaw's plan to gut the Ring in one fell swoop failed, it doesn't mean we lost outright. This was a good catch. He's a couple rungs higher up the ladder than the guys we've been going after. If Casey can get anything out of him, it could still help us break open the Ring's inner circle."

"But the FBI is all over it," Chuck said. "How is Casey going to get anything, playing by their rules? Those two aren't cleared for all that stuff about the Ring, are they?"

"Never underestimate just exactly how sneaky Casey can be. I know he makes use of the 'cop-face' a lot, but there's more to being an effective agent than just intimidation. There's a plan for this kind of situation. Trust me, Casey will be fine," Sarah frowned and took in his expression. Something else was bothering him. "Okay, out with it sweetie. What's wrong?"

Chuck hesitated, and she tensed. He was thinking about lying to her. Sarah started to bristle at the thought, but he sighed and finally met her eyes after a moment of indecision. "I flashed when I was fighting that Ring agent."

"So what? That's what you're supposed to do..." Sarah said, and frowned. "What happened?"

"It... I don't know how to describe it. We've never really talked about what happens when I flash, so... okay. I saw the first couple of images like usual, but then something misfired or I don't know what, but instead of suddenly knowing Kung-Fu... there was just static, and then, I had a pounding headache. It nearly got me killed."

"What! Why didn't you say something earlier? We need to get you checked out. If there's something wrong with the Intersect, we need to make sure you're going to be alright."

"See, this is why I almost didn't say anything," Chuck grumbled. "I knew you'd overreact."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Overreact? You think I'm overreacting," she said flatly. "You haven't _seen_ overreacting, buster. The crazy supercomputer in your _brain _is on the fritz and you—"

"Sarah, shhh. It'll be fine," Chuck said. "Beckman will know what's—" She glared him to silence.

"Beckman just tried to blow you up with a Predator drone, or did you forget?" Sarah said. "No. We're calling your dad."

"But he doesn't... I never told him about the 2.0. He thinks I'm out of the spy life," Chuck said. "He's going to go ballistic."

"Then, we don't tell him that part."

"How does that work?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "We lie to him," she said. "We say the new human intersect, whom we can't reveal for obvious reasons, is having glitches, and we need him to fix it. You contact him as a favor to your girlfriend—"

"What happened to the 'secret' in secret relationship?"

Sarah grabbed him by the collar and brought him nose to nose with her. "You are not allowed to die or go into a coma. Is that understood?"

"Sarah, I'm not going to die. It was one flash; I'm sure it's nothing," Chuck said and cupped her cheek with one hand. She tightened her grip on his shirt almost painfully.

"Is. That. Understood?" Sarah said slowly. Chuck gulped and nodded.

"So I don't get any rest at all from the lies?" Chuck said.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," Sarah said with a shrug and a sad smile. "But my first priority is keeping you safe and healthy. All other considerations are secondary. You get that, right?"

"I do get it. I just think—"

"If you tell me I'm overreacting again, I'm going to take... steps."

"I'm equal parts turned on and scared out of my mind by that statement."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "That's too bad, because one of those steps is putting you in a chastity belt."

"Rasm frasm," Chuck said.

"What was that?"

"I will contact my dad tomorrow. No chastity belt please."

"Because I trust you, I will not lock your pants shut despite you flirting with the lady at the hotel earlier. But we should go over what you're going to tell your dad. We need to set up a meeting away from places Casey has under surveillance."

"Okay. You win," Chuck said. "Oh, hell, what time is it?"

Sarah furrowed her brow. "Why does that matter?"

"Morgan's expecting me for _Call of Duty_ tonight, and we haven't been able to hang out lately because it's been Mission: Crazy all the time, and he's getting like he gets. If I miss that, no amount of Casey dragging me fishing against my will is going to hold up as a cover."

Sarah pouted. "Should I be jealous?"

"You're messing with me. Don't stop; I love it," Chuck said. He leaned across the gearshift and gave her a peck on the cheek, opened the door and shifted to get out. "I'll text you my rough plan on the burner."

"Hey," Sarah grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and yanked him back down. "That is not an acceptable goodbye kiss."

Chuck grinned. "And what would be? Hmm?"

"C'mere."

Forty five seconds later, as Chuck walked the block and-a-half to his apartment, his knees were a little wobbly. That had been _some _kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: after visiting Frea's blog over at castleinanity and witnessing the awesomeness of all those shiny progress bars, I have succumbed to peer pressure. If you're anxious to know how far along I am on the many and varied projects that take up all my time and make me insane, you can go to ninjastorytime (dot) blogspot (dot) com, and find out.

Thanks once again to _daywalker82 _for cleaning up my mess with his beta reading skills.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Massive chapter! Not so heavy on the action as the last couple have been though. Hopefully you 'splosion junkies will be satisfied with zany antics all around instead. First person to find and identify the line from Star Wars (who isn't my beta, _daywalkr82) _gets... a puppy? Actually, puppies are expensive... I'll think of something.

* * *

Chapter 24: Chuck vs. The Fourth of July

* * *

Tuesday morning, after a monotonous day at the Buy More and a surprise visit from his father, Chuck dragged himself out of bed, shuffled through the shower and put on his nerd herd uniform. The weekend mission with Sarah and everything else that happened was still in his head, but when he looked at the clock, he realized he was already going to be pushing it to get to work on time if he left without breakfast. There was a sudden explosion followed by a burst of gunfire from the living room. Chuck instantly went into panic mode, peering carefully around the doorframe into the living room.

"Ha-haaah! Take that, Collectors!"

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief. "Morgan, what's going on?" He leaned on the back of the sofa and took in Morgan in a t-shirt and sweats on the gaming chair with the built-in speakers, halfway through _Mass Effect 2_. "Don't you need to get dressed for work?"

Morgan snorted derisively. "Dude, no work today. Don't you remember?" Morgan turned awkwardly to look at him and grinned, before returning to blasting the alien menace. "I can see from the 'Cletus the slack-jawed yokel' impression you're giving me there, that you _did_ forget. I wonder maybe if you'd been around more lately, then you would know. The Buy More's closed for the Fourth of July this year. Some new corporate patriotism kick or something."

"Oh," Chuck said. "Cool. So then what's going on in the galaxy?"

Morgan sprang out of his chair and blocked the screen. "No way! Spoilers, Chuck. You still haven't finished the first one."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever, Morgan. What am I supposed to do all day, then?"

"Why not hang out with your new best pal with fishing-buddy-action John Casey?"

"God, it's too early in the morning to deal with this," Chuck said. "Casey kidnapped me, for all intents and purposes to go fishing. He's bigger than me."

"And he's built like some kind of weird fleshy battle-tank," Morgan remarked. "Fair enough, dude. Water under the bridge. I'll hook up the WLAN for some Halo in a minute. Go change into something less..." he waved at Chuck's Nerd Herd getup. "Now I can't think of anything."

"Nerdy?"

"You said it, not me," Morgan said.

"Hell. I just fell into a patented Morgan Grimes word-trap, didn't I?"

"You did indeed sir."

"I need a drink," Chuck said thoughtfully. "Casey probably has some whiskey."

"Fireworks are starting early for you, it looks like."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Hook up the WLAN. Somebody needs a sticky-grenade upside his head."

Morgan grinned.

Across the courtyard in his surveillance center, Casey rolled his eyes and looked longingly at the bottle of Johnny Walker.

* * *

After a couple of hours, they switched it up. Morgan was sick of getting decimated at the new Halo, and it was midafternoon when pounding on the door brought Chuck away from Call of Duty, incidentally giving Morgan the opportunity to spawn-kill him repeatedly while he was away from his controller. He yanked the door open and his jaw dropped.

"Hey, bro!" Devon said. And he wasn't alone, either. A young man in Army fatigues shared the doorway with him. Between the two of them, there wasn't a lot of actual doorway to spare. "This is my baby bro Kevin, He's got leave this week, before he ships off to... what was it?" Devon snapped his fingers. "OCS. Short for Officer Candidate School. Before too long, there will be a real 'Captain Awesome.'"

Chuck grinned and shook hands with currently Staff Sergeant Awesome. "So they finally got you to come over to the darkside?"

Devon blinked. "What? You know each other?"

"Spy stuff, Devon. Kevin's delta force team helped out on a mission a couple weeks ago in Afghanistan."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "You're not supposed to tell him that, Chuck. Operational details are a no-no. I'm surprised the Colonel hasn't drilled that into you by now."

"Eh, Casey's got the whole courtyard bugged; if he's got a problem with something I say he's usually banging down the door twenty seconds later," Chuck said, looking around expectantly. "And I don't see any Casey."

Devon nodded. "Right. Because he's still out by the truck he rented, waiting for help unloading the Beastmaster."

"Do what now?"

"Come on Chuckster, you're drafted," Devon said, and the brothers Awesome led the way out to the curbside parking. Chuck ducked back in just for a second, so Morgan would drop him out of the game.

"Hang on, why a Beastmaster?" Chuck said when he joined back up with the Awesomes. "Those things are huge. Six burners, dual rotisserie. The broiler attachment. You can grill enough to feed a small army. Why would Casey need a Beastmaster? He only has to feed himself."

"About that," Devon said slowly as they turned the corner. "We actually got two. That's why we need the extra set of hands."

Chuck groaned. "Two?" He said, a little rattled by the idea. How much meat were they going to grill? He looked around wildly, for the piles of sides of beef and whole pigs that would soon be thrown on the fire. _Two _Beastmasters!

"Yeah," Devon said. "Ellie's throwing a party for the Fourth. The whole complex is coming, plus we've got RSVPs from half the staff at Westside Hospital, and a couple of the neighboring complexes heard about it so... Yeah. Probably going to be a big turn out. Casey volunteered to be grillmaster."

"Of course he did," Chuck said. Casey waved as they came up, and showed Kevin and Chuck to the handholds on the first Beastmaster crate. "Why didn't I know about the party planning?"

"Bro," Devon said. "You've barely been around the last couple of weeks. We never see you anymore. Ellie's starting to get worried. And I guess it's no wonder. Afghanistan? Bro, I don't even know if that's Awesome or not!"

"Go with not Awesome. We nearly got killed," Kevin said.

"I know," Chuck said, to both of them. "About Ellie, I _did_ talk to her at her birthday party."

"Not cutting it, Chuckster. Don't say I didn't warn you, bro, 'cause she's on the warpath now more than ever."

Casey cleared his throat. "Let's get this show on the road. Come on, and don't forget to lift with your legs," Casey said. "Can't afford for you to throw out your back, Moron."

"Thanks for that, John," Chuck said and heaved, rolling his eyes and starting backwards into the courtyard.

"So," Keven said. He was holding up his end of the grill like it was nothing. Chuck hated him a tiny bit just then. "You still keeping secrets from everyone?"

Chuck froze and nearly dropped the Beastmaster. He glanced up toward the nearest camera, and then met the Sergeant's eyes again. Kevin shrugged. "Oh, you mean Ellie?" Chuck said.

"Exactly," Kevin frowned. "Who did you think I meant? Never mind. I can see the answer. Bro—do you mind if I call you that—Devon's contagious that way." Chuck shrugged in response. "Cool. I mean, I understand all about secrecy and that, but if Devon knows, it's just a matter of time. Seriously he couldn't lie his way out of a wet paper bag. And from what I know having only met Ellie for like fifteen minutes, your sister is going to go off like an H-bomb when she finally figures out all the lies."

Chuck grinned. "Oh don't get me started, I know. Boy howdy do I know. Hopefully I'll be out of the country on a mission when it happens, so all the yelling will land on Devon."

"Hey," Kevin said. "That's my brother!"

"Exactly," Chuck said, "You don't seriously expect me to think there isn't some good-natured practical joking among the Woodcombe boys?"

"Okay," Kevin grunted and shifted his grip on the Beastmaster crate. "Good point. I'll probably still be at OCS when the shit hits the fan, which means I'll have to rely on you to send me a Twitter video."

"I meant to ask," Chuck said. "I thought your tour wasn't up for another few months."

"Well, half my unit turned out to be traitors, if you recall?" Kevin said. "That kind of thing will shift your career plans around a little."

Chuck snorted. It wasn't a laughing matter, but phrasing _that _particular statement as a question was funny. "Yeah, like I'm ever going to forget someone named Captain Reynolds being the bad guy? Not damn likely."

Kevin arched an eyebrow. "I don't take your reference."

"Don't you guys have DVD players in the military? You've never seen Firefly?"

"Sure we do, but mostly we watch romantic comedies. Usually something in the Sandra Bullock/Hugh Grant oeuvre."

Chuck frowned. "You're messing with me."

"Come on," Kevin said. "Of _course, _I'm messing with you. I'll have to check out that show. It is a show?"

"You're killing me here, Woodcombe." Chuck said.

Kevin flashed his teeth in an evil grin.

"Oi, Moron!" Casey boomed from the entrance to the courtyard, where he and Devon where lugging the second Beastmaster. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Your apartment?"

"Just set it down right there so we can set up the grill station," he said. "I don't want to burn the place down trying to light these things indoors."

"Well that's just good sense," Kevin said.

Chuck scowled. "Whose side are you on, Staff Sergeant?"

Kevin shrugged sheepishly. "He has all the guns. I've seen the cabinet. Plus he outranks me."

"Murple frertz," Chuck said and Devon boomed a laugh.

"Come on bros, lets go get the burgers and the rest of the kill out of the car."

* * *

Morgan finally came out of his _Call of Duty_ fugue state a little before sunset after all the guests had arrived. He blinked and looked around in astonishment. It was like magic. The smell of roast beast was calling to him. The siren song of brisket and burgers, sloppy joes and boudain and about six other kinds of grilled meat practically pulled him out of the apartment by the nose. He slipped in and snitched some bratwurst and a particularly juicy looking burger and slunk back toward the safety of his room. But someone grabbed him by the shirt from behind. "Don't even think about it, buster."

"I know nothing!" Morgan blurted, and fought down the urge to shoot his hands up in the air, since they were full of barbecued goodness and it would really be a crime to let such delectable foodstuffs go to waste.

"Not surprising," the voice said, and spun him around so that Ellie Woodcombe nee Bartowski could glare down at him. "Food is for guests, and people actively engaged in the party." She went on. "If you're just going to hide in the apartment and play video games I'm going to have to confiscate those."

"Hmm," Morgan said. "You make an interesting point. Allow me a rebuttal?"

Ellie rolled her eyes and motioned for him to go on. Morgan pulled his hamburger open and drooled onto the lettuce. His mouth was watering just from the smells coming from the dual Beastmaster setup, so it was really simple.

"Oh gross, Morgan!" Ellie said and darted back a couple steps.

"You made it necessary with your talk of taking my tasty tasty burnt cow!"

"Chuck!" Ellie shouted, and the Bartowski in question popped his head around the corner.

"Whattup?"

"Code Grimes."

Chuck seemed to deflate at the words. "Alright... Come on Morgan, let's get you away from Ellie before she punts you into orbit or something."

"Is it that time already?"

Chuck nodded sagely. "Probably for the best, all things considered."

"Heh,you did that on purpose."

Chuck blinked, searching his mind for what Morgan could possibly be thinking. Something clicked. "What? No I didn't. Who makes NPR references on purpose?" Morgan managed a double finger point around his plate of barbecue.

"That guy."

Chuck rolled his eyes and looked to Ellie for help but she was making theatrical hand-washing gestures, and he knew what that meant. Which was more than likely a smart move, so he let her go without protest. Under the rules of a 'Code Grimes' Morgan was his problem and only his, for the remainder of the party. Chuck and Morgan continued to spar verbally, which gave Ellie time to retreat and regroup.

Maybe a dozen steps in, she nearly ran over Sarah, who was weighed down with a huge bowl of potato salad. "Oh! Sarah, hey!" Ellie grinned. Sarah frowned and set the bowl on a nearby card table.

"What's up, Ellie?" She said, a touch of worry audible in her voice.

"Oh, nothing really. I'm glad you made it," the brunette said. "Have you talked to Chuck?"

"No, not since," Sarah froze, trying to remember when was the last time Ellie was supposed to have heard that she and Chuck had talked. "Yesterday?" She tried. Ellie broke into a squeal, and Sarah's shoulders slumped.

The squeal cut off. "What's wrong? Did something happen? What did he do this time?"

"Who, what?" Sarah said, caught off-guard. "No, nothing. I mean, not 'nothing,' obviously. We just talked, honest. Why are you interrogating me?" Oh lord, she was blushing all the way to her ears.

"Sarah, I don't think I've ever seen you that red," Ellie said. "What..." She grinned and let out a chuckle. "Maybe I don't want any details; that's my brother! Are you two back together?"

Sarah shook her head helplessly. She was usually better at this. What the hell was wrong with her? Granted, this was the first time she'd spoken to Ellie since... certain things... over the weekend, but that wasn't... that _was _it, damn it all.

"You're _not_?" Ellie said and glared around, trying to track down Chuck. "After whatever it was that you're _that_ embarrassed about? I'm going to kill him. Chuck!"

Chuck's head whipped around and his eyes widened. Morgan took in the expression as well, dove through the Morgan-door and slammed it shut after him. Chuck tugged helplessly at the knob looking desperately pitiful while Hurricane Ellie descended.

"Ellie wait, it wasn't—" Sarah started. This was a disaster. If Casey reviewed the logs before she could alter them and saw her slip up, he'd know something was off. Screw it, keeping Chuck's spy life a secret from Ellie trumped it, and if worst came to worst, she had a tranq gun in her purse with Casey's name on it. They could run tonight if they had to. "It was me," she said, and tugged Ellie's sleeve to stop her. "Chuck wanted to get back together, and I wasn't ready. Sometimes couples relapse, Ellie. That's all it was. Just a one-time—" She'd waited too long. That little speech hadn't had an audience of one as she'd intended. Ellie, Sarah, and Chuck were standing in a little, horrible, awkward knot. Chuck's mouth fell open in shock. Ellie glanced from Sarah to Chuck. When Ellie wasn't looking, Sarah mouthed 'play along' desperately. She really hoped his lip-reading skills were doing better.

"Is that all it was to you?" Chuck said. Sarah shot him the 'a-okay' hand signal behind Ellie's back, and when she rounded on Sarah, she had to quickly turn the gesture into an embarrassed shielding of her eyes from the Wrath of Ellie. Chuck made a beeline toward the courtyard exit.

"Chuck wait!" Sarah said, and tried to get around Ellie, who wasn't having any of it.

"We need to talk, I think." Ellie grated.

Sarah winced. "I need to go after him," she said. And not just because of the scene they'd just made. Somebody needed to have Chuck's back, from a national security standpoint.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Sarah." Ellie said. "I think you've done enough damage."

A burst of temper flared up. "It's none of your business. Back off," Sarah said, and splashed through the fountain to get around Ellie without having to resort to aikido. Ellie stared after her in shock.

Sarah snatched her phone from her purse and dialed Casey immediately. "John Casey's phone."

"John?" Sarah frowned as she used the key-fob to remote-unlock the Porsche.

"No, it's Kevin. Hang on," After a few seconds Kevin came back on the phone briefly. "Here he is."

"Casey?"

"Yeah, Walker what's up with that little scene you just pulled?"

"I messed up the timeline on when I'm supposed to have last seen Chuck. Ellie misinterpreted it, and thought Chuck and I had a one-night-stand."

"So, did you?"

"Oh shut up, Casey. Of course not."

Casey grunted. "Of course not."

"Break my heart once, shame on you. Try to go for two and I tear _your _heart out. And eat it in front of you before you die."

"I don't think that's the way that saying goes," Casey said, scowling and flipping a couple of tofu burgers. They were a travesty, but Devon had a couple of idiot vegan friends from the hospital, and Casey had drawn the short straw. "But I like where your head's at. Make sure he doesn't drive off a cliff or something nerdier and completely ridiculous."

* * *

Sarah tailed him, easily. He obviously wasn't making any efforts to elude pursuit, which was a relief. Still, about halfway there, she realized where he was heading: The pier. Of course. She parked her 911 next to the herder, took off her sandals and followed him out onto the beach. There was a 4th of July luau a quarter of a mile down the beach, and the pier was packed, but the beach itself was, miraculously, mostly empty.

"I should have known you'd come here," Sarah said when she was within a few feet of him.

Chuck grinned and turned. "I knew Ellie would do something like that," Chuck said. "As soon as she had us both within arm's length, it was kind of a foregone conclusion, so I timed it out carefully by avoiding her until I saw you show up. I didn't expect exactly what happened, but I knew an awkward scene that would allow me to run off in a huff was incoming."

"You planned this?" Sarah said with a smirk.

"There's a little bit more involved than just sneaking us to the beach, but yeah," Chuck said, and dug in his pocket, checking his watch.

"What are you..." Sarah started, frowning. Then Chuck went down on one knee. "Oh, my God."

"Sarah Walker," Chuck said, without any further preamble. "Will you marry me?"

She froze, for just a moment, and felt tears building. Damn him. Then, she yanked him up by the shirt collar and tried to stick her tongue down his throat. Chuck reacted the way any sane person would and kissed her back. After an all-too-brief handful of seconds, she pushed him out to arm's length, gasped a breathless, "Gimme," and snatched the ring out of his hand before jamming it onto her finger and attacking him again with her lips.

Chuck grinned ruefully, talking awkwardly out of the side of him mouth because he couldn't seem to break contact entirely. "I take it that's a yes?"

"Yes," she said, eyes sparkling. "Yes, of course." Then, she went back to kissing him. Sarah's eyes slid closed and she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him tight against her. That's when the fireworks started. Sarah flinched at the first unexpected boom and jerked away, staring up into the sky. She couldn't help it, and laughed in delight while the sky bloomed with light. Chuck slipped around behind her and gave a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder. Sarah leaned back into him and let out a happy sigh.

His hands found hers and Sarah pursed her lips, pulling their linked hands up where she could look at the ring. Maybe she should have done more than glance at it, before accepting. For just a brief moment, she was expecting the blue plastic/red 'stone' ring from out of the gumball machine at the Buy More. Instead, it was a modest, but obviously antique and expensive diamond ring. "How did you afford it?" Sarah asked after the big finish turned night into day for about a minute and a half. That wasn't what she wanted to say, but practical considerations trumped her initial 'squee!' instinct. "You didn't use your savings did you? A big-ticket item like this, Casey probably has an alert on your accounts... oh, Chuck, you should have cleared it with me first..."

He put a finger gently to her lips as she ran down. "It was my grandmother's," Chuck said.

"What?" Sarah said, still somewhat in shock. She grabbed his wrist with both hands and tugged his finger out of the way so she could speak intelligibly. "When did you...?"

"Dad brought it by last night and we talked. Oh, and he knows what's wrong with the Intersect. He's going to have a prototype rigged up in about a week."

Sarah shook her head. "I thought we were going to meet him together."

"You trust me, don't you? And dad kind of has issues with the CIA; it was his suggestion to use me as middle-man in the first place."

"Of course I do, I just..." She sighed and scrunched back tighter against his chest. "It's fun watching you with your dad. I pick up on all these little things he does, mannerisms. There are these bits of his phrasings that you use too, and I feel like I missed out this time. So, you told him to bring the ring?"

"Yes, that was part of my coded message in the classifieds," Chuck said, and kissed the side of her neck.

Sarah laughed softly for a moment and smiled down at the ring on her finger. "You have been planning this, then. Good. I don't ever want to take it off," she said. "But I have to, eventually." Sarah scooped her phone out of her purse and grabbed his watch with the other hand.

"What are you doing?" Chuck said. Sarah ignored him for the moment and fiddled with her iPhone and his watch.

"There, all done," Sarah said. "Beckman went back to the old scheme, the one we already took care of, remember? Now, what do you say we head back to my place?" She tried to waggle her eyebrows at him, but she hadn't practiced it very much. "Ow..." she groaned and put a hand to her forehead to smooth out her scrunched up brow. "How do you do that all the time and not get cramps?"

Chuck smirked. "I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you."

Sarah glared at him, lips pouting temptingly. Chuck groaned and pulled her into a kiss, one of his hands wandering down her back to tug her against him. Her eyes popped wide and she pushed him away with a gasp. "Mmm... my place, now," she growled and grabbed his wrist, spinning and tugging him back up the beach toward the Porsche.

"What about the Herder?" Chuck protested.

"We'll come back for it in a couple hours," Sarah said, and quickened her pace. Chuck stumbled and nearly fell, but Sarah used her grip on his wrist to steady him, yanking him along when he slowed.

* * *

Sarah made record time through the streets of LA, despite being distracted enough by her engagement ring that she nearly drove them into the plate-glass windows of the shops they passed on the way, once or twice. Three times at the outside. It took every ounce of willpower Sarah could beg borrow or steal not to maul him in the lobby while they waited for the elevator, or _in _the elevator, for that matter. As it was, she made do with giving his backside a squeeze every chance someone's back was turned and tugging his earlobe gently with her teeth. Chuck had a slightly bewildered look on his face the entire time, as if he'd expected somewhat of a less... vigorous response to the proposal.

When they finally got through the door into her apartment, Sarah wasted no time shoving him onto her bed. "Do not move," she commanded and disappeared into the bathroom briefly. Judging by the noises coming from in there, either Sarah was fighting an air war against superior opposition or... "Where did I put those stupid boxes of condoms?" Her voice carried out to him, and Chuck gulped.

"Uh, sweetheart, I... did I hear that right?" He looked around desperately. "Did you say 'boxes,' as in _plural_? I just want to be clear on your expectations: I'm almost thirty and any sexual prime I may have had is kind of on a downward trend after the mid-twenties for guys, and I don't want you to get your hopes..." He stopped babbling, and his jaw dropped into his lap. "Wow, would you look at those."

Sarah was decked out, in... well, very little, really. What there was of it consisted of black lacy bits and... gosh her legs went up practically forever. She brandished the box of condoms at him and stalked closer. "Lose the shirt," she said throatily.

"Yes, ma'am!" Chuck said quickly. He had the shirt off over his head in a blink of an eye, and turned to throw it on the side of the bed away from her. There was a puff of air behind his back, and a stabbing pain in his shoulder-blade. "Ow! Sarah, what? Ow!"

She winced and held up a gray plastic injector gun similar to the one Bryce had threatened him with upon his first resurrection. "Sorry, I know how you are about needles, so I thought, distraction?" She tossed her head to get her hair out of her face and waved down at her ensemble. It was several seconds before he could yank his eyes back up to her face. So, the distraction part was still working.

"What the hell did you just shoot me with?" Chuck said. "And, here, please put a shirt on if we're going to be having an actual conversation or you'll just win by default."

Sarah pouted briefly but did as asked, tugging Chuck's t-shirt on over her head. It was a little big for her, so it covered up the black lacy panties, but the garters and the thigh-high stockings were still showing to distract him. He figured it could have been worse. Chuck was only having a substantial amount of trouble keeping his concentration on being mad at her for poking him with needles, as opposed to the ridiculous amount of trouble the full effect of Sarah's lingerie had had. "It's no big deal. Just a tracking chip."

"No big deal? The government already has me on like three different satellites, how does this make it less difficult for us..." his babble slowed to a stop. "Wait. This is a personal tracking chip?"

"Yes," Sarah said flatly. "At the rate you get yourself into trouble, it's a wonder I didn't do this years ago."

"What..." Chuck started, then tried a different tack. "Won't the bad guys find this one? Sometimes they're pretty smart about tracking devices."

"It's special, new tech," Sarah explained. "This is when you get to geek out at your fiancee going all technobabble. So pay attention, 007. It's made from a special polymer, supposed to be the same density as human tissue, so it won't show up on x-rays. Transparent to nearly all wavelengths on the EM spectrum. Its power needs are so low, it can tap in directly to the bioelectricity of the human body. It'll run forever."

"But that still leaves signal traces and..."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Unlike the standard trackers, it spends most of the time in standby mode, not drawing power, not transmitting. It works off the cellular grid. If you've got cell service, I can ping your location, and it will show up here. There's also a radio backup." She waved her iPhone before placing it back on the night stand. "Of course, it's not quite as accurate as the GPS in your watch, only down to about a three-meter radius, but its smaller by about a factor of five."

"You're sure its safe?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and shot a second tracker into her arm, right at the crook of her elbow. "Perfectly, see? I'll give you the link so you can ping this tracker and find me too. Now, c'mere. We have some celebrating to do, so why don't you unwrap your present?"

* * *

Exactly thirteen seconds later, Sarah's phone went off. Chuck hadn't even had time to get his shirt back from her. They groaned in synchronized disappointment. This just couldn't be happening. "Shh," he whispered. "Pretend we're not here."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "It doesn't work like that. Casey knows I'm supposed to be watching you; if it's the General and we don't answer she'll release the hounds." She scooped up the phone and sighed. It was like that woman had psychic powers of knowing when her agents were getting lucky. "It's the General."

"Of course it is," Chuck shrugged and pulled the hem of the shirt up to expose Sarah's belly.

"Ah!" Sarah said. "What are you doing? I have to take this!"

"Who's stopping you?" Chuck grinned up at her. "I'm not letting her get in the way again. You'll just have to use your CIA training against spilling... secrets."

Sarah's eyes widened and his lips started working up under the t-shirt. "This is such a Bad Idea!" She whimpered, and answered the phone anyway. "Walker here."

"Where's Mr. Bartowski?"

"He's... around." Sarah put the phone into her shoulder and bit off a moan before it could start.

"-does that mean? Agent Walker?" She only caught the tail end of the General's question. "Do you have eyes on the asset?"

Sarah bit her lip briefly. Her hips rolled in response to what Chuck's lips were doing. "Yes, of course General."

"Good," Beckman said. "I need you both in Castle ASAP. GPS has you at Santa Monica Pier?"

"That— that's right," Sarah managed to get out. She stifled a squeak, put the phone against her chest again and whispered fiercely. "Oh, God, quit it. Quit that right there in particular, with the tongue. I'm on the phone!" She heard the phone buzzing faintly and slapped it back up to her ear. Sarah grabbed a handful of Chuck's head of unruly curls in one hand to try to at least slow him down. "Yes General! Right away ma'am."

"Are you alright, Agent Walker? You sound... I don't know what..."

"No, yes, ma'am. Everything is under control, situation normal. Everything's perfectly alright now; we're fine. We're all fine here... now... thank you. How are you?"

"I'm just peachy. Get over to Castle, twenty minutes. We need to move on this." And thank_ God_, Beckman left it at that, severing the connection.

Sarah tossed her phone down, emphatically, Chuck popped up, and she smacked him right in the kisser with her pillow. "Waak!" He yelled, and fell off the side of the bed with a thump.

"Oh no, Chuck! I didn't mean to hit you that hard! Are you okay?"

Chuck wordlessly stuck up one arm, thumb extended upward, and Sarah puffed her bangs out of her face and tried to do something about her beet-red complexion.

* * *

"So what is this mission?"

Sarah winced. "Apparently, it's a seduction; that's all Beckman would say over the phone. Or that's all I could make out. Someone was distracting me." She poked him in the sternum accusingly.

"I don't want you having to seduce this jerk," Chuck said in a whisper that barely carried to Sarah's ear. She rolled her eyes. How could he possibly know the man was a jerk? Chuck seemed to read her mind. "Whoever it is, it's obviously a jerk, because they're always jerks. And I know it makes you feel cheap and he's going to be expecting you to..."

"Chuck, calm down," Sarah patted his arm and pulled her keys to the Orange Orange. "You have a hugely skewed perspective on this. Nothing is going to happen." Sarah paused in the doorway and glanced at him pointedly. Chuck took the cue and put up alternate video feeds that a special software hack would synch up with the loose ends of data for a relatively seamless transition. It was a new addition to CastleHack 2.0, as he sometimes called it. Chuck nodded when he was done, and they made their way to the freezer. "Look, nothing has _ever _happened between me and a mark. You need to know that. I know I never told you before, but every time we talk about this you get kind of mopey, so I've just avoided the subject altogether, because, really, I don't like talking about it either. But, look, the CIA doesn't, and hasn't ever used a honey trap. At least not in the way you're thinking. You know what that is, right?"

"I've been watching Bond movies since I was like, six," Chuck said. "Of course, I know. And I really don't think that's true. What about all those times Casey said you had to get the information by _any _means?"

Sarah grinned and tousled his hair. "He was _messing _with you, sweetie. We both know you get a little ridiculous when you get jealous. The CIA doesn't do that."

"Never?" Chuck said skeptically.

"Okay, it does happen, but not anyone officially on the payroll. The Federal Government gets away with a lot, but actually _tasking_ an honest-to-God _Federal Employee_ to sleep with someone, while they're collecting a paycheck from said government? There's a law about that sort of thing. It's called prostitution and its illegal? Okay, so prosecuting it would be a bitch and a half, but this is still America. So that's still illegal. At best, even _expecting_ it of an intelligence officer of either gender would open the agency up to _huge _civil action. If something like that is going to have to happen, they farm it out to, you know, a_ctual prostitutes_? Who are criminals? And then the agents, like _me, _have to hang out and take dirty pictures to use for blackmail. Still not fun but completely different. And besides being illegal, the risk of a honey trap getting burned is too big to put anyone with a top-secret clearance in a situation like that," Sarah said, "much less someone with my skills and training. It just doesn't make sense, legally, tactically, financially, morally or otherwise." She ticked off her fingers as she made each point. "You're a smart guy, Chuck, but I'm completely flabbergasted that you never put that together. And furthermore, I didn't sign up for this job to get plowed by terrorists and _traitors_. I signed up to fight them. But not with my boobs. And another thing: official CIA policy is that getting 'involved' with a foreign national is out of bounds anyway, so there!" She ended the rant by planting her fists on her hips and glaring up at him from inches away.

"That sounded like it was a long time coming," Chuck said with a grin. "You've been rehearsing that speech for a while, huh?" He pulled her into his arms and leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Sorry if I made you feel bad. I wasn't trying to call you—"

Sarah glared at him. "That first night I stayed over to protect the cover? World's oldest profession?"

Chuck winced. "Touche," he said and squeezed her tighter against his chest. "Hey, wait, is that the only reason you didn't run off with Cole Barker?"

Sarah punched him in the shoulder, and then pointed airily at herself with her left hand. She'd already taken off her engagement ring in the Porsche and looped it on a silver chain around her neck. "Of course not, kind of totally in love with you over here, even back then. Besides, they pretty much don't think about the UK that way. Our countries have a... 'special relationship,' is what they call it in foreign policy circles."

"What does that mean? We're like countries with benefits? It sounds dirty."

Sarah snorted. "I like to think of it as a bromance writ large," she said. "The US and the UK are like if you and Morgan were countries. You may not always like the decisions he makes, but you always back each others' play."

"Who is who in this little scenario of yours? Should Great Britain be offended, or should we?"

Sarah shrugged. "It doesn't really matter; you're both giant geeks," she said, and he pulled her tight to his chest, so she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

"Nerds," Chuck corrected, grinning. "You're going to need to get it right, if you want to be Mrs. Bartowski."

"Should we really be hugging like this in Castle?" she asked and pushed herself out of his embrace reluctantly. "Casey could walk in, or Beckman could fire up the video-conference."

"Super-nerd, remember?" Chuck tapped the side of his head.

"Oh, Lord, what did you do this time? I never should have given you my password."

"About that?" he smirked. "'Chuck-fever,' huh? I think I know the cure for that."

"Mmm... me too," Sarah grinned, went up on her tiptoes and planted a quick smooch on him. "Now, are you going to taunt me about my password choices, or are you going to brag about your super-nerdosity?"

"Do I have to choose?" He took in the flat expression with which she greeted that sortie. "Okay, nerdy exposition it is then. They're always keeping tabs on me, so I figured turnabout was fair play. Casey's phone has a GPS same as mine, so I tapped into it. When I loop the cameras now, my phone will automatically ring if Casey comes within thirty yards of the Orange Orange, and I used your access to the video-conference software to rewrite some of Beckman's client-side protocols," he saw the astonished and worried look on Sarah's face at that revelation, and put his hands up defensively. "Don't worry, it's nothing that compromises national security, and they'd have to do a line by line analysis of the code to notice something's wrong. The webcam she uses has a sensor that tells it to turn on when she sits down in front of it. I rigged it to also send an alert to my iPhone. Should give us an extra few seconds to get untangled."

Just then, his phone went into an ear-shattering rendition of _Private Eyes_. Chuck darted away, pulled his burner and flicked the cameras back off of the loop he'd been running. He silenced his phone, then after a couple of seconds came the tell-tale triple beep, and Beckman appeared on the plasma screen. Sarah grinned and shook her head.

"Agent Walker, Bartowski. Where's Colonel Casey?"

Sarah shrugged. "He said he'd be here, but he was manning the grill at the Fourth of July party at Chuck's apartment building. It's probably just taking him a little time to find a suitable replacement."

"I don't think he entirely trusts the Awesome brothers with his new Beastmaster. Some kind of Army/Marines rivalry thing is going on there. I could probably use the Castle mainframe to track the GPS in his phone," Chuck offered. His phone rang, blaring _The Girl From Ipanema, _and he reached into his pocket to silence it again. Sarah grinned. She remembered Casey's Satphone ring from the mission to Afghanistan as well. The Colonel was on his way, apparently.

"Let's just wait," Beckman said. Her eyes darted from Chuck to Sarah, back and forth in the awkward silence. The General steepled her fingers and peered at the two of them over her hands. Chuck could swear he felt sweat start dripping down his forehead. Half an hour ago they'd been in Sarah's bed together. Could Beckman somehow tell that with her magic cockblocking powers? No, that was crazy. But still, what was she looking at?

"Is something wrong ma'am?"

"Oh? What?" she said. "I'm sorry, no. Nothing's wrong, Chuck. Just pre-occupied. This mission didn't come through the usual channels, and I'm worried it might just be military politics, not a real mission. It can wait until Colonel Casey gets—" The door from the Orange Orange freezer cycled open, letting Casey and a wisp of icy air into the underground base of Team Bartowski. "Ah, speak of the devil. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Colonel."

"Sorry, Ma'am. Morgan was making a nuisance of himself demanding I grill something for something called 'Mystery Crisper Extreme' out of Bartowski's fridge. I hung him on one of the hooks in Chuck's closet and got here as fast as I could."

"You did what?" Chuck demanded. "Is he okay?"

"Your girlfriend is fine, Bartowski," Casey said with a grin. "I'm sure Nasty will let him down eventually. Oh, did you know she's ex-Spetznaz? You should have told me, if you flashed on her."

"At the time, I was trying to bleach my eyeballs, Casey. I was a little distracted."

"Children!" Beckman said sharply. "I have a mission for you."

Chuck groaned. "We just got back from a mission," he said, slumping in his chair.

"I'm sorry that traitors don't accommodate your schedule at the Buy More, Mr. Bartowski, but this mission should be finished tonight. You can all be at your cover jobs in the morning without any trouble. It's a simple Infiltration and Inducement mission."

"Who's the mark?" Sarah sighed.

"General Fredrick Norris," Beckman explained. A picture of a middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a lantern-square jaw popped up on one of the screens. "We believe he is attempting to reroute a shipment of nerve agent from our testing facility in Nevada to LA, so he can sell it to someone in the area. We don't think its the Ring, just your standard whack-a-dos."

Chuck raised a hand. "Uh... 'whack-a-dos?'" Chuck said, frowning to himself. "General, are you feeling alright? I just never thought I'd ever hear you say the word... 'whack-a-do'. It sounds funny just to say it. Come on, everybody, 'whack-a-do.'"

Beckman rolled her eyes. Sarah tried to hide a smirk. Casey grunted. "Shut it, Bartowski."

"Thank you, Colonel Casey," she said. "At any rate, we need to discover for sure if he's dirty. I have my doubts. There may not be anything here other than a grudge over at the Defense Department, so we're going to need to handle this discretely."

"I understand, ma'am," Sarah said. "I'll go get dressed."

Beckman's eyebrows rose. "Oh, Agent Walker, I think you misunderstood. You won't be seducing Fredrick Norris anytime soon. I'm afraid you're not his type."

"Not his type?" Sarah echoed, a little confused. "You mean he doesn't like blondes? Is he too short? Do I need to wear flats?"

"How should I know that?" Beckman said. "I'm sure he likes blondes fine, and he's six foot one. It's just there's something about _you_ that's lacking."

"Like what?" Sarah demanded, a little upset, and not really pleased with herself for being upset, when she should have been thrilled she didn't have to seduce some late-middle-aged Air Force General.

Beckman arched an eyebrow. "Chutzpah," she said. "Agent _Bartowski _will be handling this particular seduction."

"Bwaaaah?" Chuck said in a rising tone of shock.

Casey burst out laughing. This mission was going to be priceless.

"Is there any chance the General is being blackmailed because of his sexual orientation? If the NSA knows, some other group might have figured it out. People will do a lot to hang onto a General's pension," Sarah said. Beckman frowned at her, and Sarah backpedalled. "Uh, present company excluded."

"We don't believe that General Norris is being coerced to make this sale. The recent controversy over a potential policy shift in that regard makes it something of a non-issue as far as I'm concerned. If General Norris came out, it would draw major headlines, and I sincerely doubt any group attempting to smuggle nerve agents would want that."

"Uh, General," Chuck said, raising his hand. "I don't mean to be a Negative Nelly, or anything. But I think maybe you've overlooked something. I'm not gay."

Beckman rolled her eyes. "No one is asking you to be. You just need him to take you up to his room, hit him with the special darts Agent Casey requisitioned, and— what is it, Chuck?" He'd raised his hand again.

"Special darts?"

Casey grunted. "They're like those twilight darts we used on Manoosh, only better. They make you lose the last couple _hours _before you got shot. I had the NSA techs whip them up after the second time you and the little bearded troll talked about sandwiches for two hours. Couple it with a double shot of Johnnie walker, and a night of you torturing me with your ridiculous geek-trivia never happened."

Chuck frowned. "Casey. That's... I'm seriously worried about you. That's really dangerous. You shouldn't be self-medicating like that. General, back me up here."

"Mr. Bartowski is right, Colonel. As horrible as it must be for you, to listen to Bartowski and Grimes' inane prattle, this is a very serious issue."

"Hey," Chuck said, vaguely hurt by the 'inane prattle' comment. "That's really very hurtful, General."

Casey sighed. "I was joking," he said. "Why does nobody get it when I'm joking lately. _I'm_ the funny one!"

Beckman heaved a relieved sigh, then got a twinkle in her eye. "Quite so, Colonel. But smell isn't everything."

Team Bartowski's collective jaw dropped. Beckman had just got the last word, and with a joke so old it had a beard down to its ankles. _Beckman._

_

* * *

_

After that, there really wasn't much to say. They were still in shock for a couple minutes, while the general finished up the briefing. Beckman had a thoughtful look as she gave them the location, back to her usual terse self, and the team piled into the surveillance van. Despite LA traffic, they made good time and pulled up to the hotel a little after eleven.

"I'm going to go set up for plan B," Casey said with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a black plastic case with his surveillance gear in hand.

"What's plan B?" Chuck asked. Sarah grinned.

"Don't ask," She made sure none of the listening devices were recording or transmitting before she went on. "What's wrong, Sweetie?"

"I'm nervous," he said. "Picking up _women_ hasn't ever been a particularly strong part of my dating repertoire, let alone men."

"Just pretend you're talking to me," Sarah said. Chuck arched an eyebrow and she let out a low whistle. "Believe me. It'll work. In fact..." she frowned for a moment, and reached into the neck of her blouse for the chain around her neck. Sarah tugged her engagement ring up and motioned for Chuck to lean his head forward. Once she tucked the ring into his shirt, Chuck glanced at her inquisitively, and she grinned. "Remind you who you belong to, in case this general tries to get fresh with my man." She said, and buttoned his top button with a proprietary air.

"Isn't that the point?"

"Only—" Sarah started and realized she'd fallen into a pit with no handholds and there were alligators in the bottom. She blushed furiously.

"You were going to say 'only if you get to watch,' weren't you?"

"No!" She tried. Chuck frowned sourly, and Sarah couldn't resist. "Come on, you can't tell me the thought of me and Carina sudsing each other up hasn't occurred to you."

"Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" Chuck said and attempted to beat a hasty retreat. He had the doors open and was halfway to freedom when Sarah grabbed him by the back of the shirt and turned him around.

"Just relax and be yourself. Let's get this mission over with. And then, lets pick up where we left off back at my place." She glanced around, looking to make sure there was no sign of Casey. He should be off setting up for Plan B, but it paid to be safe. Once satisfied the coast was clear, she gave her fiance a quick peck on the cheek. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"Weirdest conversation ever," Chuck muttered to himself as he walked toward the bar.

* * *

"Chuck, come on," Sarah's voice said in his earpiece. "Try again."

He turned back to the General, who just sighed and held up a hand to forestall another doomed attempt at dudely flirting. "Look, kid, it ain't happening. You're at _least _fifteen years too young for me, and you're just embarrassing yourself. Now if George, Takei took a pass at me?"

Chuck blinked. Sulu? Really? General had a thing for Sulu? "Actually it's 'tuh-kay,' and isn't he married?" Chuck said, but that just earned him a hairy eyeball and the general scooted his barstool away. Casey's voice cut in on his comms. "Give it a rest, Bartowski. Walker, I'm going to plan B. Time to send in a real spy."

Chuck walked dejectedly back to the van. He shook his head. Why dejected? This mission was messing with his head. In the lobby he passed Casey, who was decked out in a horrible purple chenille suit with a bright yellow shirt. He goggled at Casey for a long moment, and the older agent growled at him. "Back in the van, Bartowski. Leave this to the professionals."

Chuck made it to the van and donned a headset before he finally broke down laughing. Sarah nudged him with her elbow, and pointed at the camera feeds Chuck had stuck on the wall when he first went inside.

"It's like the seventies just threw up on him," Sarah said, in wonderment.

"Does he actually think gay _men _dress like that?" He chortled.

"As a woman I take offense. Your implication is that a woman, gay or otherwise would find herself dead in that monstrosity."

"Okay, so we're agreed. Ill-advised wardrobing decision."

"Yes, we are," Sarah took the opportunity to twine her fingers through his.

"Good. Because now like half a dozen parts of my brain need to throw up into other parts of my brain, just from the thought of Casey in that suit."

"I'm not sure that makes a whole lot of sense."

"It's not supposed to. I think all rational thought has shut down when I saw that suit."

"You realize you two comedians are still on comms, don't you?" Casey's voice intruded.

Their eyes widened in mirror images of mortification and Sarah snatched the lead for her microphone out of the jack. She reached for Chuck's but he put his hand over hers.

"No seriously though, Casey, I've got like one more, then I promise that's it."

"Walker, cut his mic please? This mission is awkward enough without that in my ear."

Sarah leaned over to talk into Chuck's microphone before she shut it down. "On it, John." She cut the feed. If he needed them, he would just key his watch mic and come through the speakers.

Sarah turned her eyes to Chuck. "Gimme, gimme!" Chuck laughed and handed over the engagement-ring-necklace. She snatched it and started petting the stone. "Myyy preeeecioussss."

Chuck snorted. "Sexy Gollum. Your costume is totally going to kill at Comic-Con."

"Bwuh?"

"Oh, crap. I didn't clear that with you? Or Beckman?" Chuck said. "I could have sworn... Morgan's been on me for the last three years. I promised I'd try to make it work this time around."

Sarah tucked her ring away and frowned thoughtfully. "You know, we didn't talk about this... but I'm really not one for a long engagement. Out of town for a weekend, more holes in the surveillance? It might be our only window for a while."

"Are you suggesting a Comic-Con wedding?" Chuck breathed. "Don't you toy with my emotions like this, Sarah Walker."

Sarah grinned and bit her lip. "Maybe I am."

Casey's voice interrupted again. "We're heading upstairs; if you two can stop giggling like third graders, I could use some pointers, Walker."

Sarah blinked and checked their comms again, just to make sure. They were still cut off. "I don't believe it." She glanced at her watch. "It only took him two minutes?"

Chuck and Sarah both stared transfixed at the monitors. Casey and General Norris were lingering at the elevators, bantering playfully. Sarah fumbled her headset back into place, clumsy with haste, so they could listen in, and Chuck leaned right next to her, sharing the headset between them.

"So, you were a Marine?" General Norris asked.

"Yes sir," Casey replied. "Force Recon, two tours."

"You know how to take orders? I'm a General."

Sarah snatched the headset back off. And they shared a chagrinned expression. There were some things that they just weren't meant to hear. She managed to keep the desperate hilarity out of her voice. "We're going to lose comms in the elevator, Casey, but we still have eyes on."

Chuck grabbed the microphone. "Unfortunately. Purple chenille? Really?"

Casey grumbled something indistinct, and on the security cameras, the door closed, with an accompanying crackle of static when they lost comms.

Then, Sarah's iPhone rang and her frown matched the picture of Beckman flashing on the screen. That was odd. The General almost never called when they were out in the field, unless something was going completely sideways. Sarah put the phone on speaker. "Walker, here."

"Abort! I say again, abort mission," Beckman said. "It's a false flag. Get Bartowski out of there."

"You're on speakerphone, General. I'm already out," Chuck explained. "Casey went to plan B. They're in the elevator now, we lost comms."

"Try his cell. It's imperative that Colonel Casey does not tranq General Norris.

* * *

Casey dug out his phone, with a shrug. "Sorry, General," he said and glanced at the screen. Bartowski's ugly mug popped up on the caller ID photo. General Norris spotted it, and recognition flickered.

"What the hell is this," he demanded. "You two are what? Trying to seduce me? Is this some kind of game to you?"

Casey froze and looked at the phone more closely. It was a text.

_**Abort. No zzzzzzzz.911!**_

He sighed heavily, and thanked a merciful God that Bartowski and Walker couldn't listen in thanks to the elevator's interference. "No, no... look. I'm sorry. I just..." Casey took a deep breath and went on with it. "He's my partner. I— we. Look, it's..." What had Walker always been saying when she was compromised with the asset and wouldn't admit it? "Complicated. He was trying to make me jealous, and I thought hey, 'turn about is fair play'. I just... I'm sorry. I can't do this to him." Casey held the phone out. "See for yourself, look at the text."

General Norris read, and sighed. He jabbed the nearest floor button and the elevator stopped. The doors opened. "Go. You two crazy kids make it work."

Casey took the stairs down and double timed it to the van. The doors opened and Bartowski and Walker were waiting for him, fighting not to laugh. They'd heard. They'd figured out the lie he'd had to spin. Crap.

"Should I leave?" Sarah said. "Let you two 'crazy kids' hug things out?"

Casey scowled. It wasn't as fun when people were hitting _him _with the one-liners.

Beckman's face was waiting for the team on the monitors when they got back to Castle. "What happened, Ma'am?" Casey said. Chuck and Sarah stood behind him, their amusement fading at the seriously ticked off expression Beckman was wearing.

"I wasn't feeling right about this mission from the get go, so I did some digging on my own while you were driving over, and spotted some irregularities. Norris is scheduled for random drug testing in the morning. If you'd tranqed him with NSA-issue darts, there would have been hell to pay when they showed up on the tox-screen. I talked to the people who ostensibly assigned the mission to my eyes only, and it's bull-puckey. No one will admit to being on the other end of the request."

Chuck frowned. Again with the weirdness. First 'whack-a-dos', now 'bull-puckey.' Maybe Roan was in town or something, and it was throwing her off her game. "This whole mission was all homophobic mudslinging since the policy on gays in the military could be changing. I thought we were above this sort of thing, but I guessed wrong. It's ridiculous and I'm sorry I interrupted your 4th of July plans for a bogus mission."

"That's alright, Ma'am," Casey said. "If he _had _been trying to sell that nerve agent, we couldn't have ignored it just because it might be a hot-button domestic issue."

"Actually it's not alright, Colonel. This mission needlessly put the Intersect team into play. No one should even know about the Intersect who would _attempt _to put its capabilities to use for such a sham. I think this may have been a smokeout attempt."

"What does that mean?" Chuck asked. "The Ring did this? That doesn't make any sense. Why would they bother? I mean, is the Ring against gay rights? Was that some secret part of their agenda I completely missed out on?"

"Actually, I think I see where the General is going, Chuck," Sarah said. "If we'd been caught, or if Casey hadn't talked his way out and had been forced to use the tranqs, the drug test is the main point. The scandal would have exposed our entire operation. Uncomfortable questions would have been raised."

"Agent Walker is correct," Beckman said. "But my concern is that the press could have latched onto the whole 'gay general angle' and made national news out of it. Our proximity to the situation would have been... complicated.

"Complicated hell, that would have been completely FUBAR," Casey said.

Sarah glanced at Chuck pointedly.

"Misappropriation of resources would have been the least of it. If this mission had gone through and failed to dig up any dirt, the Ring could have used the incident to draw us, and by extension you, the Intersect into the light."

"Where they'd have a shot at taking us down," Casey said. "God, that's disturbing, that they're that entrenched, that well-informed? But it does tell us one thing. We're getting too close for the Ring's comfort, if they're this desperate. And that's definitely a good sign."

"So where does that leave us?" Chuck asked. "I mean, we can't just sit on our hands, can we? If we're close enough that the Ring is going to such lengths... we need to shut them down for good."

"Agent Walker, I think what we discussed this morning has become a necessity. I'll need you to come to D.C. and debrief Shaw intimately," Sarah's eyebrows rose, and Beckman actually blinked. "Poor choice of words. He says he has information that may be useful in tracking down this 'Director' about whom we've been getting chatter. But I don't feel comfortable with our SigInt security, and I'm not sure I can even trust my couriers now, or I'd messenger the data over. If someone knows enough to get this misinformation about General Norris to my desk, and put you out there on a false flag mission, there's a highly placed leak we need to plug."

"How long will this take?" Sarah asked. "We talked about two weeks. Is that still the plan?"

"That's the case, give or take a day or two. Why do you ask?"

Chuck figured out where she was going with it. "Comic-Con," he said. "Morgan got tickets and ever since the Intersect got in my head, I've had to miss it. I was telling Sarah before. Morgan bought the tickets ahead of time, back when Sarah's cover was still my girlfriend... and he never got around to returning or transferring that particular—"

"Excellent. You could all use a nice vacation. While Agent Walker is away, no field missions for you or the Intersect, Colonel Casey. You need to lay low while I try to find who in my chain of command is leaking information to the Ring about this operation. Then, you'll all go to San Diego."

Casey grunted. "The bearded troll is coming along, isn't he?"

"About that, Casey. Passes have been completely sold out for months."

Casey rolled his eyes. "We'll just hack their database," he said, smugly.

Chuck grinned. "The Comic-Con database," Chuck said. "Run by, for, and containing the credit-card information of 100,000 of the world's biggest nerds? Good luck."

"Chuck," Sarah said. "The CIA and the NSA have the best nerds."

"Really," he said. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Every time we catch a hacker, they get a job offer or they go to prison," she said. "When was the last time you heard of a hacker going to jail?"

"Ah," he said. "Good point."

"Ahem," Beckman said. "You can iron out the details later. Chuck, try not to flash on anything, if you can avoid it. Agent Walker, your plane leaves at eight a.m. tomorrow. Dismissed."

* * *

"Ugh," Chuck said as he fell onto his bed. He rolled over and grinned at the ceiling. He was engaged. To Sarah Frakking Walker, no less. Chuck shook his head and toed off his Chuck Taylors, thinking about it. He needed to slip away sometime during Sarah's absence and fill out the paperwork for the marriage license. Online was the best bet, but he needed a computer Casey wasn't bugging. Castle was probably his best shot there. With Sarah's user privileges, covering up his tracks was child's play for someone of his skills, and he had a ready-made excuse to be down there, since he was supposed to be lying low and not flashing, so Casey would probably suggest it anyway. And Chuck knew good and well that Casey would storm out after maybe twenty minutes of alone time with Chuck. Less, if he was actively _trying _to annoy him. The only possible hiccup in the plan was the possibility that Casey would try to lock him in the cells before he left.

Still, he should probably brush his teeth and change into his PJ's instead of falling asleep in his clothes. Rising, Chuck shuffled over to his closet and opened the door.

"Hey, Broseph," Morgan said.

"YAHHHH!" Chuck shouted and leaped back in surprise. He fell over on his butt and the air blasted out of him.

"Morgan!" Chuck gasped, when he got air back in his lungs. "What are you doing in there?"

"Dude, I can't feel my arms. Casey put me up here and I've been hanging for like three hours. Nobody heard me over the party, and I guess they're all blitzed now so I gave up shouting. Could you help a brother out, man?"

"Yeah, let me just," Chuck said. He positioned himself next to his friend and pulled up, grunting with effort, but they managed to get Morgan loose from the hook.

"Thanks, dude," Morgan said, working his shoulders and flapping his arms to get the circulation back.

"So we're on for Comic-con," Chuck said.

"No way!" Morgan said. "For serious?"

"Yep."

"Oh, I guess we only need to scalp the one pass then," Morgan said. "That makes things easier."

"Actually, Sarah's coming too," Chuck said.

"Look at you, gettin' back together!"

"As a friend, Morgan," he said. "Just as a friend."

Morgan winked. "Whatever you say, man. I saw you two talking at the party. And then you both disappeared, just like at Ellie's wedding," he said. He tried to give him both a knowing wink and a thumbs-up at the same time, but his fingers weren't cooperating yet, so it took him a couple of seconds lag to get things situated. "Anyway, don't worry. I can keep a secret."

"Go, get out of here. I need to sleep."

"You up for some CoD?"

Chuck frowned. "What time is it? Isn't it like almost two already? And don't you have to work tomorrow? We should both get some shut-eye."

"Chuck," Morgan said, as if explaining something to a small child. "I'm the assistant manager. You can sleep _at _work."

"Ellie was right; you _are _a bad influence on me. Lock and load, buddy. Lock and load."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Reviews are always appreciated. Especially when the chapter is over ten-thousand words long. Longest. Chapter. Ever.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Since there's no episode of Chuck tonight because it's being preempted for an interview with _He Who Must Not Be Named_, I figured I'd post this today, even though _daywalkr82 _got the beta finished Friday morning. It was amazingly difficult to sit on a finished chapter for three days.

Disclaimer: Not only don't I own chuck, I don't own the sky, or the color orange. If I owned any of those things, my life would be 43% more awesome. (This is an exact figure arrived at through the use of MATH, and not at all an arbitrary number picked out of a hat.) Enough stalling.

* * *

Chapter 25: Chuck vs. Comic-Con

* * *

Chuck bounced on his toes, trying to peer through the security checkpoint and catch a peek at the arriving passengers. Casey frowned and eyed him sideways.

"What's with you? You need to visit the little girls' room?" He said, chuckling at his own wit. Morgan furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I don't understand," the little bearded man said. "Chuck's a dude."

Chuck sighed. "Yes, Morgan, that was the point." He glared at Casey halfheartedly. Insults aside, it was a valid point. He'd been making a mighty effort not to appear anxious, but he _was _anxious. Sarah's return would have been... intense... if not for Casey and Morgan's presence, and so there was a combination of anxiety and desire boiling away in his gut, combined with his ever-present annoyance at the secrecy involved. Sarah's trip to DC had gone long, and now she'd had to fly direct to San Diego to meet them. Morgan claimed shotgun, and the game of Slug-Bug he instigated with Casey had quickly gotten out of hand.

At least that was how Chuck saw it. Then again, objectively, it probably _did_ look like he was doing a pee-pee dance in an attempt to hold it. All things being equal, he preferred Casey continue thinking that was the reason, and not his overwhelming eagerness to see his fiancée again. He really didn't know _what _Morgan was thinking.

"I'll be right back," Chuck said and made his way to the men's room. His palms were sweating, and he took the opportunity to look himself in the mirror. Chuck frowned at his new haircut. Ellie had finally won the war of attrition and dragged him to the hair-cutting place. He refused to call it 'the stylist' and it certainly wasn't an old-fashioned barber-shop like his father had taken him to when he was little. His hair was close cropped and almost all the curl had been sliced away. Needless to say, Chuck wasn't a fan.

After a glance at his watch, he waited ninety seconds or so before washing his hands and rejoining Casey and Morgan by the security checkpoint where Sarah should have been arriving soon. Except she was already there, and hiding a disappointed frown from Morgasey. It was so cute. She'd obviously missed him, too. When he joined back up with the group, Sarah hugged him briefly, careful to keep her hands from wandering. They parted, sooner than either would have liked, and Morgan stood with his arms out expectantly. Sarah's eyebrows went up, but she darted her eyes at Casey and succumbed to the inevitable.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Sarah said once they all piled into the Crown Vic. Morgan called shotgun again, to no one's surprise. Sitting in the back seat with Chuck, Sarah's mind was mostly occupied in stopping her hand from crawling over across the upholstery to link with Chuck's. "Dad was tied up with work and I missed my flight yesterday." Visiting her father in Connecticut had been the cover story for her sudden absence.

"Oh, no big thing, Sarah," Morgan said. "Just glad you could make it. I mean, sure I could have scalped your pass at the door for like two hundred bucks and financed most of my purchases with the proceeds, but I'm really glad you decided to come. Really. Even if we did miss the first day of the 'Con waiting at the Burbank Airport for you."

"I said I was sorry," Sarah said defensively.

"Way to be passive aggressive there, Morgan," Chuck shook his head in exasperation before turning to Sarah. "Don't mind him. It's not like any big panels are on Thursday, anyway. Friday and Saturday are usually the biggest draws."

Sarah waved it off; letting Morgan's grumpiness faze her was out of the question. She fished in her purse briefly and found her burner. Sarah left her hand inside while she tapped out a quick text.

_**Certificate Ready?**_

Chuck had his burn phone set to silent, and she had to nudge him surreptitiously when Casey and Morgan's game of Slug-Bug broke back out to get him to check it. He glanced at the screen and nodded. Casey put Morgan in a headlock and made him tap out, driving with one hand to do it, and the moment passed. Sarah chewed her lip nervously. There were a lot of moving pieces this weekend, and there was the risk, which they hadn't really discussed, that Beckman's NSA web of quasi-legal spy-tech might just extend into the marriage records of every city in California. It was a remote possibility, Sarah had finally decided, but it was still nagging at her. Maybe she could get Chuck to rig something up remotely today...

"So, can we at least stop by the hotel or—" Sarah started, but Morgan cut her off.

"Nuh-uh!" Morgan said. "The _Spy Attack_ Sweepstakes sign up cuts off in an hour, and I need to win one of those Beta-keys."

Sarah glanced at Chuck inquiringly. He shrugged. "Video game demo," he explained. "It's exclusive to Comic-Con attendees this year, and there's a lottery of some kind."

Sarah nodded sagely. "Well, that explains that."

"Can't this thing go any faster, Casey?" Morgan said, bouncing in his seat in anticipation. "Comic-con, ho!"

"I get that Comic-Con is a big deal to the nerdlier amongst us, but..." Sarah whispered, "But he's a little wired, isn't he?"

Chuck grinned. "Morgan may have gotten tanked up on Red Bull and Gobstoppers on the ride over. Four hours in traffic builds up a lot of tension in anyone," he said and lowered his voice to just a whisper. "I'm surprised Casey hasn't shot him yet."

Sarah snorted and grinned out of the side of her mouth. Chuck wasn't much better himself. Frankly, she was amazed the pair of them hadn't been awaiting her arrival tranqed in the Crown Vic's trunk.

* * *

Casey grumbled to himself about not being able to carry a gun as they went through the metal detectors at the door. Sarah shot him a glare and a pointed look Morgan's direction, and he subsided. Once event security had glanced over their convention IDs, they were ushered into nerd-central. Casey shuddered just the tiniest bit. Despite the brave face he'd been putting on, maybe he wasn't as prepared as he thought for an entire three-day weekend's worth of nerd-mob. It didn't seem like Chuck or Morgan noticed, as they were transfixed by the spectacle. And it certainly was a spectacle; the hall was packed floor to ceiling with decorations, booths, posters with characters Sarah was hard-pressed to identify despite the comics-education Chuck had given her back in their agent/handler days. It was information overload, and her spy senses kicked into overdrive. This had been a huge mistake. The crowd was completely unmanageable. How in the hell were she and Casey going to keep Chuck safe in this press?

She glanced at the Colonel helplessly, and saw a similar expression on his face to the one she knew she was wearing.

"Hey, I'll catch up to you guys in a minute!" Morgan shouted over the din, and seemed to disappear into the crowd almost instantly.

"Where's moron number 2 going?" Casey grumbled.

Chuck turned, shrugged, and his eyes glazed over, eyelids flickering. "Did you just flash?" Sarah demanded.

"Spit it out, moron," Casey said. "We got a mission?"

Chuck shook his head, to clear the flash out of his head. "Sorry, what? What? No. It's nothing. Low level chatter. I think this was a bad idea... the number of people in this crowd..." He paused and took in the expressions on Casey and Sarah's faces. "No really, do you guys have any idea how many people have FBI files, CIA files, and there's not really anything to report? That's what that was; a lot of paranoid conspiracy theorists are in attendance, and apparently they're not all that paranoid, 'cause I've got files on them in my brain saying things like: negligible potential threat, discontinue investigation. Seriously, the Intersect scientists couldn't have vetted out some of the irrelevant stuff?"

Casey grunted: Number 3, 'You're a moron, Bartowski', "You never know what's irrelevant and what isn't. Like before 9/11, half a dozen Middle-Eastern men signed up for flying lessons. I'm sure there were more than that, but those were the ones that, in hindsight were, super-relevant. But at the time, nobody could see it."

"You didn't just equate harmless mothers' basement cranks to _terrorists_, did you? Seriously?" Chuck said.

Casey merely rolled his eyes and turned to Sarah. "One of us stays with him at all times on the convention floor. Bartowski, if you flash, you tell one of us. I don't care if it's jaywalking, unpaid parking tickets, or public drunkenness. You tell us."

"Come on, this is ridiculous," Chuck protested, a pointed gesture taking in the pair of veteran spies. "This is Comic-Con, not a scene from Mission: Impossible. You two are the ones who are going to need looking after this weekend, not me. Believe it."

"I think we can handle ourselves, Chuck," Sarah said. "I mean it's not like things are... oh my God, Morgan!"

A huge man man in a blue head to toe bodysuit peppered with green-and-gold flecks was palming Morgan's head to hold him back, while Morgan swung his fists furiously wearing— was that a Superman costume? Chuck laughed heartily. "Relax, he's fine. Probably just mugging for the cameras, see?" There were indeed a handful of people standing in a semicircle snapping pictures with cellphones, and the occasional digital SLR for the photography nerds. "They're reenacting the climactic battle from Superman #244. First appearance of the Galactic Golem."

Casey's jaw dropped open. "They're _what_? And how did you just _know_ that off the top of your— oh right, somehow I forgot you're a gigantic geek. You'd think I'd remember..."

"Nerd!" Chuck corrected automatically. "We've had this discussion. More than once!"

Sarah frowned. "Wait, where did Morgan get the costume? Did he have a bag I didn't see?"

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Of course not, he was wearing it under his streetclothes. That's part of the costume."

She winced. "Dare I ask what your costume is?"

Chuck grinned and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the Batman emblem. Sarah rolled her eyes fondly, and they all went over to make sure Morgan was okay.

He waved them over and started introductions. "Hey gang, this is Kenny, my new friend."

The huge blue-clad man shrugged. "He was the first guy dressed as Superman who realized I was actually a Superman villain."

"Oh," Casey grinned. "So even among nerds you two are something special."

Chuck leaned in to whisper in the Colonel's ear. "You realize he's actually bigger than you?"

"Huh?" Casey said, looking up... and up. "Huh. Nice to meet you, uh... Kenny. I'm John." They shook hands, and Chuck waited to hear bones cracking. But despite his size, Kenny was gentle as a lamb. They didn't really get much further than the introductions when a tinny voice buzzed over the convention center's PA system. Casey and Sarah blinked in confusion, and a hush fell briefly over Comic-con.

"Uh..." Sarah said eventually. "What's going on? Did anybody understand that?"

"Surprise signing!" Morgan exclaimed and tore off into the crowd. "Come on!"

"Okay, I know seven languages, Chuck. That wasn't any of them." Sarah put her fists on her hips. "What gives?"

"You didn't recognize it? It was Klingon, remember how Bryce and I..." he took in the glower Casey was sending his direction. "Right. Getting to the point now. The original Star Trek cast is here to promote some new Trek comic or something. I don't know the whole story, 'cause I've been falling behind on my comics, thanks to certain unplanned trips... hint, hint," Chuck explained. "The announcement in Klingon was to keep out the rabble."

"Ugh," Casey groaned. "There wouldn't happen to be an open bar around here anywhere, is there, Kenny?"

The giant blue masked supervillain merely shrugged and shook his head congenially. Casey let out a mournful sigh.

* * *

For Casey and Sarah, it was a long day. Although it was kind of cute watching Chuck geek out hardcore, at least for the first two hours, after that, she really could have used that drink Casey had mentioned. Chuck glanced at her a couple times, but those were mostly standard 'secret fiancee' longing looks; he seemed largely oblivious to her plight.

After the another two hours, maybe, her feet were throbbing because all her sensible shoes were still in her bag and she hadn't thought far enough ahead to reclaim her sneakers from the car. "Hey, Sarah?"

She blinked and came out of her thoughts. "What?"

"That was the third time I had to ask. Do you want some water? I'm heading over to the refreshments."

"Okay. I was hoping to sit, but it looks like all the chairs are full."

Chuck laughed. "That won't be a problem. You remember you're at Comic-Con, don't you? A lot of these guys would give you a kidney if you asked. A seat at the table is chump-change."

Sarah frowned. "Come on," she said. "They're not that bad, are they?"

"Sarah, _I _was that bad when we met," Chuck shot over his shoulder as he braved the lines for water. She stood awkwardly, scanning the crowd again, but this time, not for threats. Well before Chuck got back, she was becoming self-conscious due to a couple of the stares. Mostly Sarah was lost in the crowd, but a couple of the more pimply and/or introverted were staring. And, there was one guy who could have been Jeff's creepier cousin and couldn't take his eyes off of her. It didn't look like he'd so much as blinked since she'd spotted him, either. But then, when Chuck got back and looped an arm around her shoulders the eyes all seemed to vanish. Most of the creepier glares were now turned on him with a sort of impotent jealousy. Sarah shook her head and let Chuck lead the way toward a couple of potential seats. As they shuffled through the crowded seating area, a pair of storm troopers jumped up, saluted, and clapped their helmets on before leaving Chuck and Sarah an empty table.

Chuck grinned. "See, I told you."

"Why'd they salute?"

"Dunno," Chuck shrugged. "Maybe they recognized me from the year Morgan and I were Vader and Emperor Palpatine."

"Doesn't Vader have a full-face mask?"

"We re-enacted the ending to Jedi on the convention floor. I lifted Morgan over my head and threw him into a ball-pit at one of the booths," Chuck explained. "It was pretty memorable."

Sarah blinked and looked him over in a new light. "Over your head?"

"Well, he jumped too," Chuck said. "We practiced it in Morgan's back-yard a few times to make sure it looked good for the peanut gallery, but I didn't actually have to do a lot of the lifting."

"Oh," Sarah said, hooking a chair out with her foot and sitting gratefully. "That would stick in my mind, too. Either way."

Chuck held in a grin. "I bet."

She pretended obliviousness. "Thanks for the water. I really needed to get off my feet."

"You want a foot rub?"

Sarah bit her lip. "God, it's probably illegal even to _tell_ you what I would do to you in exchange for a foot rub right now."

Chuck choked on a swig from his water bottle and Sarah hit him in the back to get his breathing back under control. "Don't say things like that when I'm drinking. I almost did a spit-take right in your face. Here, give me your feet."

Sarah shook her head. "Nuh-uh. What if Morgan and Casey come back from Artist's Alley when you're working?"

Chuck sighed. "Okay. Your feet, your call," he said. "So, how was DC?"

Sarah merely shrugged. "It was fine. A lot of meetings, a lot of paperwork. We should probably wait to go over all the data with Casey when we get back to LA."

"How's Shaw doing?"

"Shackles aren't a good look on him."

"Shackles? He's in shackles?" Chuck said. "Isn't that overkill?"

Sarah glanced around, to make sure no one was close enough to listen in. The closest table was only a few feet away, but the handful of men and women in brown dusters were chatting animatedly. "He killed a man, in Berlin, without authorization."

"I'm not going to forget that any time soon," Chuck grumbled, and she gave him a soothing look. "But—"

"And he put the entire team in jeopardy and nearly compromised your cover. He's in a secure protection bunker a few miles west of Langley, and he's staying there until we have the Ring taken apart right down to the ground. I thought you two didn't get along?"

Chuck shrugged again. "We didn't, but... I don't know. I wouldn't wish one of those bunkers on anyone."

Sarah put her hand over his reassuringly for a moment. "I won't let that happen to you."

Chuck nodded. "I know, sweetie. I love— pancakes!"

"You love...pancakes..." Sarah furrowed her brow at the sudden shift, and a red-blue blur appeared out of nowhere, grabbed a chair and spun it around so he could straddle the chair-back.

"Awesome. Are we getting back into our pancakes versus waffles discussion?" Morgan asked brightly. Casey's hulking frame behind him slumped. He obviously well remembered the pancake/waffle debate that had followed the sandwich debate during Chuck's attempt to make his surveillance detail a living hell.

Chuck's grin was full of victory. "No, Morgan. You won that; the little pockets that fill up with syrup carried the day. Waffles are objectively better than pancakes, and we'll leave it at that." Casey's sigh of relief was invisible to Morgan, and he mouthed a discrete 'thank you' to Chuck.

"Aw..." Morgan said, having come up with another half-dozen salient arguments that would now go to waste. "Well, did you guys eat anything yet? I'm starving."

"It's not time to eat yet is it?" Sarah glanced at her watch and blinked. Maybe she hadn't flipped her watch back to California time when she got back. There was no way it was already... seven P.M. How was it _seven_ P.M. already?

Chuck and Morgan were grinning, and Casey was frowning at his watch. Morgan broke the silence. "You've both just had your first 'where did my Comic-Con go' moment. The lighting in here doesn't change all day, and if, like the two of you, and unlike the two of us, you don't have every minute planned out..."

Chuck took up the end of the sentence. "You can turn around and realize that what you thought was three or four hours, was really nine or ten," He shrugged. "It happened to us our first time out too, so don't feel too bad about it."

"No wonder my feet hurt," Sarah said.

* * *

Dinner was a nice surprise. Chuck and Morgan's numerous trips to Comic-Con had given them a decent taste of San Diego, and they wound up at one of her favorite spots. Thankfully, Morgan changed back out of his Superman costume before they left the convention center, so she didn't have that to deal with during dinner.

She hadn't been to _Hwang's_ since her senior year of high school, but the dumplings were just as good as she remembered. She caught Chuck grinning at her for no reason while she ate, and Sarah dropped her napkin for the excuse to duck down out of sight of Morgan and Casey. "What?" She hissed in a low whisper.

Chuck just grinned wider. "Going to leave any dumpling for the rest of us?" He said aloud, and Morgan and Casey spotted her sticking her tongue out at him, and everyone laughed the incident away. All in all, the first day of Comic-Con had gone swimmingly until they got to the hotel.

"Oh, yes. I have the reservation right here. You're in 1136 and 1138," The clerk said as he slid the paper sleeve holding their keycards across the counter to Casey. "Very in demand around this time of year, those two rooms." The man was slim as a blade, with dark hair and a hooked nose that made him seem somewhat sinister, despite his studied politeness.

"Two rooms," Casey said, and his hackles rose. Something was nagging at him. "Double beds?"

"Of course, of course. There's a single queen-size in each," the clerk said, with just a touch of a confused expression. Morgan's eyebrows shot up in realization.

"Oh, crap," he muttered. "I forgot to change the reservations, Casey. When... oh, crap." Morgan glanced to Sarah and Chuck apologetically. "When I made the reservations, you two were still... and I didn't expect Casey to be coming along at all, so..."

Casey grunted. "I'm not sharing a bed with you, Grimes," he said before addressing himself to the clerk once more. "You got a cot or two you can bring in?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," the clerk said. The man was obviously trying not to wring his hands, and failing. "But with the convention in town, nearly all of our cots are already in service. The few that remain are being repaired."

Chuck met Sarah's eye inquisitively, and she blushed slightly and shook her head. They had been thinking along similar lines, it seemed. Was there any chance they could keep Casey convinced they weren't a couple and share that bed in her room? Chuck tried not to let his shoulders visibly slump at the inevitable conclusion: no, there wasn't.

"Is there any chance we could get another room, maybe one with two beds?" Sarah tried. "Then—" but the clerk was already shaking his head.

"No, I'm sorry. The convention is such a big draw for the area that I'm sure every hotel on this side of town is full up for the entire weekend. I know that we've been booked solid since February." Casey growled under his breath.

* * *

"I still don't see why you get the bed, and we didn't even flip a coin or, draw straws or anything," Chuck complained to Casey when they were all three in room 1138. Morgan and Chuck each had a small pallet made up of the extra blankets and pillows the clerk had gotten them free of charge.

Casey opened his mouth with a ready reply, probably about firearms, but then his expression shifted, his eyes locked onto Morgan, and he changed what he'd been about to say. "I'm the adult, so I get the bed. Now go to sleep, it's a school night."

Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Chuck my dude," Morgan said. "It's like a slumber party."

"We live together," Chuck said.

Morgan ignored him. "We should tell ghost stories. Casey, you want to tell a—"

"Yes," he stretched up to his full height and cracked his knuckles. "I _do_ have a story: Two morons kept the noble prince up all night yammering, so he had them burned at the stake. Shut up and go to sleep, or I'll go find some lighter fluid and work on a reenactment."

"And I'm shutting up," Morgan said, burrowing into his bundle of covers and yanking a sheet up over his head. The blankets began to move around in an odd fashion after a few seconds.

"Morgan, what did we say about sleeping au naturel on this trip?" Chuck said quickly.

"Man!"

* * *

Chuck lay on the floor listening to Morgan and Casey's breathing for half an hour, until he was sure from the soft snoring coming from the floor at the foot of the bed, that Morgan was out for the night. Casey's breathing had evened out and now was as good a time as any. Trying not to make a sound, Chuck slithered out of his pallet on the floor and proceeded to sneak toward the door, but in the darkened room, it was difficult to maneuver, and he stubbed his toe on something and nearly cried out.

"Where do you think you're going, Bartowski?" Casey said in a gruff whisper.

Chuck blinked in the darkness. "Uh... midnight snack. I was going to hit the vending machine for a snickers or something. You want something?"

"Nah."

"Okay," Chuck said and turned for the door, but Casey flipped the covers off and made to follow him. "Hey, come on. I'm a grown man, Casey, not a six year old."

"Yeah, okay. Just don't get kidnapped or anything. I'd never hear the end of it."

Chuck just shook his head, patted the pocket of his PJs to make sure he had his keycard and slipped into the hall. He glanced at his watch. 1 O'clock, give or take, and with the possibility that Casey would stay up waiting for him, he didn't have very long. Chuck glanced down the corridor, but it was deserted, at least for now. He knew that many of his fellow convention-goers were night owls, and there had been times when a _Magic: the Gathering_ tournament or something similar had gone on until the doors opened the next day. So, it was lucky that no one was around to see him slip next door and knock gently on the door to Sarah's room.

After only a brief couple of seconds, the door swung open. "Ack!" Chuck said louder than he should have, and hurriedly shielded his eyes.

Sarah frowned and looked immensely hurt. "That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for."

Chuck couldn't risk peeking at her. The one brief glance he'd taken had shown far more skin than lacy purple things, and though there was a skirt involved it was still clear that she wasn't wearing her normal sleeping clothes. "Yeah, about that: could you maybe put on something with actual fabric? I woke up Casey when I tried to sneak out, so he'll be expecting me back." He waved vaguely in the direction he'd last seen her. "If he comes looking for me, it would probably be for the best if he didn't find me in your room with you wearing... that."

Sarah sighed heavily and closed the door in his face. After a couple minutes, she re-emerged wearing a pair of plaid sleep pants and a t-shirt with a pink flannel robe and a pair of fuzzy slippers. "Better?"

"I don't know about _better_," Chuck said. "But we're certainly less likely to get in trouble if Casey finds us." That had the desired effect, and Sarah laughed and punched him playfully in the shoulder.

"So, how long do we have before Casey mounts a SAR exercise?"

"I said I was going for a midnight snack," Chuck shrugged. "Ten minutes, fifteen at the outside?"

Sarah nodded and glanced at her watch. "Okay. Vending machines then," she said and grabbed his arm. While they were waiting for the elevator, she leaned against him, and Chuck put an arm around her waist.

"Huh," Chuck said. "Strictly speaking, we really shouldn't be doing this."

Sarah pulled away a little to look up at his face in consternation, one eyebrow arched. "What are you talking about?"

"It's bad luck to see the bride on the wedding day," he grinned impishly as they got on the elevator.

Sarah shook her head and glanced at her watch again. She pursed her lips. "Technically you are correct."

"And technically is the best kind of correct," he said. "Why are we getting on the elevator? The snacks on this floor aren't good enough?"

"The longer Casey has to look for you, the longer we get to just _be._"

"Point taken," Chuck mused. "So, you bring any quarters, or do you expect me to pay?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You think we should go Dutch... on candy bars... the night before our wedding?"

Chuck sighed. "I am actually hungry, that wasn't just a dodge for Casey's benefit, and I only have a couple bucks."

"Well, you should have planned ahead," Sarah said matter-of-factly. Chuck frowned at the beginnings of a grin she was trying to keep at bay.

He squinted. "Is that a roll of quarters in your shirt pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"It can't be both?" Sarah said. "But yes, it's a roll of quarters. Since chivalry is apparently dead, I'll spring for Cheetos and Butterfingers."

"Hey," Chuck said. "Chivalry isn't dead, it just doesn't plan ahead. How 'bout I give you that foot rub while you eat? Will that get you to let go of this whole idea?"

"Your foot rubs are legendary. You sure you want to waste one just to win this conversation?"

"What's with you and everything being a competition? There are no winners and no losers when Cheetos are in play."

"Here we are," Sarah grinned, gesturing for him to head into the vending machine cubby before her.

"No ma'am," Chuck said. "After all that mess about chivalry, I insist, after you."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "So, Cheetos first?" she asked over her shoulder, and tore open her roll of quarters, before feeding them into the machine.

"Sure," Chuck said. He quickly found a metal folding chair and plopped himself down. Sarah retrieved the cheese puffs and took the other chair.

"So how's..." she poked the side of her head briefly before opening the bag with her teeth.

"All sorted out," Chuck said. "Here, give me your foot," he whipped off the fuzzy slipper and began kneading her toes. Sarah sighed and crunched a Cheeto happily. "Dad rigged up something... he called it a governor, like on an engine I think, was the idea."

"And where is it?" Sarah said. "Open up..." she tossed a Cheeto at him, and Chuck just managed to catch it in his mouth.

"A little warning next time?" Chuck asked after he finished chewing."

Sarah smirked. "I make no promises." The second Cheeto beaned him in the forehead.

"You're playing with fire, Sarah Walker," Chuck said.

Her smirk widened. "Is that right?" Chuck seized her ankle tightly with one hand and tickled the bottom of her foot with the other. Sarah's eyes widened in realization. "No, Chuck, no! No tickling! No!" His fingers twitched and she squirmed, trying not to laugh. She failed utterly and let out a squeal of laughter. "Ah! Stop it!" she laughed, and resorted to throwing Cheetos at him by the handful. Her aim was true as ever, and Chuck turned his head and scrunched his shoulders up to shield his eyes from projectiles.

"Ahem!" Someone said.

Chuck and Sarah looked up red-faced to see a middle-aged woman with dark hair in a bun, glowering at them in disapproval. "Uh... hi?" Chuck said.

"Is this really the best place for that kind of hanky-panky?"

Sarah blushed and glared at Chuck. How was this _his _fault? He sighed. "Which is it you have the problem with?" he asked, "The 'hanky' or the 'panky,' because if it's the 'panky,' I don't see any way around it."

The woman's glower only intensified. "This is a public area, and I don't think it's appropriate for you two to be out here doing... whatever it is you're doing."

Chuck frowned. "You don't happen to know anyone named Beckman, do you?"

The woman frowned and shook her head. Sarah punched him in the arm, probably for name-dropping the general. "We'll get out of your way," she said and retrieved her foot from Chuck's grasp, hooked her toes back into her slipper and dragged him away.

At the elevators, she frowned and checked to make sure the woman who'd interrupted Ticklefest 2010 was nowhere to be found. "You avoided the question before. Where's the Governor?"

Chuck pulled up one pant leg of his PJs and stooped to tug his sock down. "He originally made it a watch, but I figured it'd be a bad idea to ditch the tracker just yet, and I was spending a lot of time in Castle while you were gone, so I fixed it into an anklet."

Sarah nodded at the good sense in that decision, hauled him into the elevator and kissed him roughly. She tasted like Cheetos, which strictly speaking, shouldn't have necessarily been a turn-on. He jabbed the door-close button and tried to come up for air.

"Wow," he gasped. "Not that I'm complaining, but what brought that on?"

She pointed to her watch. "We've used up six of our allotted ten minutes, and I never got to give you a proper hello at the airport. The elevator ride to the eleventh floor is maybe 90 seconds. It'll have to do for now."

* * *

"I need to make sure I get all the lipstick off my neck," Chuck said. "Can I use your mirror?"

"Don't be silly," she said. "What lipstick? Who goes around wearing lipstick at 1 o'clock in the morning?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess I didn't think about that," Chuck shrugged. "Still if you gave me a hickey, we'll need to put some concealer on it or something?"

"No, you're fine. Stay out there in case Casey goes looking for you," Sarah said, holding the door open. She ducked away, and he wedged the door with his foot. Her room didn't seem all that different from her place in LA, and it struck him how odd that was. The layout was practically identical, with just the details a little different. He hadn't really noticed before how little her place actually felt lived in.

When she returned, she had a plastic shopping bag in hand, which she tossed at him.

"What's all this?" Chuck asked, tugging at the plastic.

"It's your costume for tomorrow."

"Morgan brought the sand-worm, we were going to—"

"I want us to match..." Sarah mock-pouted, and he was as helpless before a fake pout as a real one.

Chuck glanced down at the bundle and peeled open the mouth of the bag. At least he started to before Sarah smacked his hand.

"Quit that. There's a gun in there."

Chuck blinked. "Uh... seriously? Didn't I just have this talk with Casey a little while ago? They've got metal detectors all over the place."

Sarah shook her head. "No, goof, it's a tranq-gun disguised as a blaster-pistol. Mostly plastics, so it'll go through the MAD scanners, but don't load up the tranqs before we go in, so the costume inspectors don't accidentally tranq someone, and it'll work fine. And don't go flashing that around in the hallway, please?"

"Wait, so what's... who am I supposed to be?"

"Han Solo," Sarah said with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Breaking out the old Leia outfit?" Chuck couldn't help but grin. "I can't say I disapprove, even a little bit, of the idea of the metal bikini, but you did that one already."

"Whatever, our appointment with the Justice of the Peace is tomorrow at four, is there anything going on then that we could get Morgan and Casey to be preoccupied with for an hour or two?"

Chuck smirked. "Morgan? At Comic-Con? We'll be lucky if he doesn't ditch us entirely tomorrow. I may have the inkling of a plan, however, in regards to the Colonel.

"Good," she said. "As annoying as it is about Casey waking up, tonight... I had fun."

"Throwing Cheetos at me," Chuck said.

Sarah grinned. "I'm a woman of refined tastes," she said, and went up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss onto his cheek. "Go get some sleep."

* * *

"Hey, Chuck bro-heem. What's up with the gunbelt? We're supposed to be the Shai-hulud from Dune, like always." Morgan said with a frown when Chuck started strapping on his blaster-pistol in the morning.

Chuck shrugged. "It's Sarah's first Comic-Con, and she asked me to partner up with her, costume-wise."

Morgan let out an anguished sigh. "This sucks, dude. Who ever heard of half a sand-worm?" Casey shook his head and opened the honor bar, hoping for some Johnny Walker. Bartowski was turning him into an alcoholic. That was his plan, obviously, to nerd things up so horribly, that his only solace was being blind drunk before breakfast all weekend. He looked at the tiny bottles longingly for a moment, before shaking his head and straightening up. He needed to be on his game. Something was obviously going on this weekend.

"So, what's your costume, John?" Chuck asked.

Casey froze with the door open and a chill went down his spine that had nothing to do with the refrigerated air. He looked the two of them over briefly. "The only one in the group with any self-respect," he said with a forced grin. He was wearing his usual black, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black slacks.

Chuck and Morgan both glared sourly at him for a moment. "In that case," Chuck said, "You can help Morgan fill out the sand-worm."

Casey's eyes widened. "Oh no you don't, Bartowski, there is no way... of all the juvenile, asinine things you've done and made me a party to over the last three years, I absolutely draw the line at—"

Chuck interrupted. "What if Morgan let you be the head?" Morgan opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"Damn it all..." Casey grumbled. "Fine, whatever, let's get this freakshow on the road," he ushered Chuck and Morgan toward the door and herded them over to the elevators.

"What about Sarah?" Morgan protested.

"She sent me a text," Chuck said. "She's already downstairs. Come on, Morgan. You don't want to be late to the convention center, do you? That _Green Lantern_ panel you've been going on about since April is in..." Chuck glanced at his watch. "Twenty seven minutes."

Morgan grabbed Chuck's wrist and stared at the dial. "Oh my god! How did you let me sleep that late! We've got to go now! I'll never get in!"

Casey sighed. "Sure, when Bartowski says it, he listens."

"You just have to pick your moments Casey. Try to engage his interests."

"Guys, I'm still standing, like, right here."

"Just get in the elevator, Grimes."

* * *

"So, did Sarah say where to meet her?" Morgan said. "I don't see any Leia costumes, and she said you were supposed to match."

"Well, she didn't specifically say she was dressing up as Leia," Chuck pointed out. "There is a possibility that she's around here somewhere in a Chewbacca costume."

Morgan nearly tripped over his feet. "What, what what! But that's not fair—"

"Why are you getting so worked up?" Chuck frowned. "Oh, I get it. You just wanted to drool after her in the metal bikini?"

"Uh, what? No, I uh... Look over there, a three-headed monkey!"

"Is that some reference I'm supposed to get?" Casey grunted, only to have someone dressed as just that walk by. "There's no such thing as— oh, right, nerdapalooza. I tried to forget"

Someone in some kind of space armor waved at them, and Casey arched an eyebrow before nudging Chuck. "You know who that's supposed to be with the weird helmet/visor and the staff or whatever?"

"Oh. Nice, it's Boushh."

"Gesundheit," Casey said.

Morgan threw up his hands. "No, Casey. That must be Sarah. Please tell me you saw _Jedi_ at least once? Boushh was the bounty hunter Leia impersonated to get into Jabba's palace and rescue our man Han Solo here."

As they got closer, Boushh tugged off the helmet and shook her head. It was indeed Sarah, with her hair up in a French braid to keep from getting too bad a case of helmet-hair. "Hey guys," she said with a grin.

Casey tossed Chuck the keys. "Go start up the Vic, moron. I need a word with Walker."

Chuck frowned but then shrugged and led Morgan away. Casey scowled at their retreating backs and waited until the bearded troll was well out of earshot. "What's up? You're buying into this whole thing pretty hard."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "You never feel the need to let your hair down?" she asked. When he glared at her pointedly, she sighed. "Figuratively speaking? You can't solve everything with Hot Pockets and the History Channel, John."

Casey grunted, easily translatable as 'she's got a point.' "What do you want from me? I already agreed to be the front half of a giant space-worm of some kind."

"Sand-worm," Sarah corrected.

"You're really not reassuring me here, Walker. Now I'm afraid you're turning into one of them. Oh, God... am I next?"

"Just try to have fun. I'll keep an eye on Chuck," Sarah said. "My thermal detonators are actually flash-bangs. And I've got a tranq pistol in a secret compartment of my armor. Also, the staff comes apart into escrima sticks. Anything short of a full-on wet works team, I've got him covered. You can relax and just try to have fun, as much as you can, spending the day with Morgan following you around."

Casey frowned at her. "Fun? At nerd-fest?"

"Stranger things have happened, Casey," she said with a shrug. "Give it a chance. Maybe imagine it's WeapCon instead?"

He grunted. "Whatever, Walker."

* * *

"C'mon Casey, they're setting up the _Spy-Attack_ panel and demo kiosks over by Hall H," Morgan said. "You too, Chuck; what about you, Sarah?"

Sarah put on a fairly convincing frown and wiped sweat from her brow. "This suit is really hot, I don't know that sitting in a crowded hall for two hours is a good idea."

"I'd go with you, but I don't want to leave Sarah to fend for herself at her first Comic-Con," Chuck explained.

Morgan shrugged and ducked back into his half of the sand-worm costume. Casey glared at both of them. "Stay out of trouble," he ordered. Then, his shoulders slumped, and he donned the front half of the costume. Shai-hulud wended its way across the Con floor to general laughter and a sprinkling of flashbulbs. Casey should have been thankful that he could at least hide from the picture takers. Sarah's Leia-as-Boushh costume coupled with Chuck's Han Solo had been attracting people all day, and despite some initial misgivings about her picture being taken by so many strangers, Chuck would have mentioned if he flashed on any threats. He had only flashed once today, that she had noticed, as opposed to the half-dozen or so that he'd gone through on Friday, but as Casey and Morgan filtered into the crowd, Chuck stiffened.

"Did you just flash?" Sarah asked in concern.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"So, spill," Sarah said.

"Insider trading with a possible family connection to a low level diplomatic asset. We can report it, but..."

"Yeah, I don't think that's the kind of thing we should be worrying Casey with," Sarah agreed. "How's your head doing?"

"Oh, it's been fine," Chuck said. "Really. I still get the headaches, if I flash a bunch of times in a row, but they're not so bad anymore. The Governator's working fine."

"You said Governator; are you a closet Republican?"

"Why? Is that a deal-breaker? You've still got..." he checked his watch. "Seventeen minutes, to change your mind."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You have the form?"

"Sure."

"Gimme," she demanded, snatching a pen from the neck of her Boushh armor, and filling in her half of the form before handing it back.

"Samantha Lisa Peters, huh?" Chuck said. "I never pegged you as a Sam."

Sarah shrugged. "I'm changing it to Sarah in seventeen minutes."

"What, you can do that?"

"Yeah, usually it's just the last name that changes, but it _is_ a legal name-change document. I could change my name to Leia Organa Bartowski if I really wanted to."

"Stick with Sarah," Chuck said and grinned. "I intend to."

"You'd better," she said, matching him grin for grin. Then, she pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Now, we still need witnesses," she said, scanning the crowd. "Aha!"

"What are you..." Chuck started to ask, but his eyes followed her pointing finger to the imposing figure of Darth Vader. There was a Chewbacca next to him posing for pictures as well. "Huh. You sure you're okay with a Star Wars-themed wedding?"

"I am if you are. When Ellie finally gets to see our wedding pictures, somebody's going to feel the heat, and I doubt she'd ever believe it was my idea."

Chuck thought about it, "I guess I could take one for the team."

Sarah looked up at him saucily. "Gonna be more than one," she said. Chuck swallowed heavily and let her drag him across the convention floor to collect a Star Wars-themed marriage party.

* * *

They were a few minutes late, as even in the height of Comic-Con, taxi drivers who would pick up Darth Vader, Chewbacca, Boushh and Han Solo weren't exactly a dime a dozen, and the double handful of storm troopers and rebel pilots, Jawas, Wookies, Various Luke Skywalkers, Han Solos, Metal-bikini Leias, _Star Trek_ red-shirts and fully armored Klingons, _Aliens_ Xenomorphs, Predators, old school _Battlestar Galactica_ Cylons and even some miscellaneous other cosplayers that even _Chuck _couldn't identify, who had seen what was going on and decided to tag along out of the novelty of it only made matters worse. They also diluted the Star Wars aspect, but if Sarah didn't notice, Chuck wasn't going to mention it. Sarah passed out half a dozen disposable cameras to the bemused onlookers and threatened the JP with a thermal detonator to get things moving a little faster when he started to do the long-form of the vows. The man took it in good humor, not knowing that it was actually a concussion grenade. "Do you, Charles Irving Bartowski, take this woman to be your wife?"

"Yeah, doy," Chuck said to peals of laughter from the witnesses.

The Justice of the Peace rolled his eyes. "I just need to hear an 'I do,' son."

"Right, I do," Chuck said quickly.

"Okay," the elderly JP turned to Sarah. "And do you, Samanth—"

"I do!" Sarah said, cutting him off. Another bout of laughter rocked the rather cramped Justice of the Peace's office.

"Right, so you're hitched. Now, for my favorite part: the paperwork!"

"Hey!" One of the onlookers, in a scout trooper uniform, said. "What about the kiss?"

"That's actually just in churches, there's not any actual—" The judge started, but a loud chorus of catcalls and wolf whistles cut him off. He turned and sighed. Then, after a few seconds, he cleared his throat. "Uh, you two going to come up for air anytime soon? There's still some papers to sign. Sarah waved dismissively without pulling away, in fact, if anything she redoubled her efforts at kissing Chuck senseless. "Ehhh... Comic-Con," he sighed, shaking his head. It took nearly half an hour to clear out all of the mismatched sci-fi cosplayers and get down to the business of signing the papers.

* * *

By the time Sarah and Chuck got out of the office, most of them had grabbed taxis back to the convention. Sarah smacked herself in the forehead. "Crap," she said. "I didn't tell them not to spread around the Han-Leia wedding thing. What if Morgan hears about it from somebody tomorrow? I assume this is going to be a big topic of conversation at the Con tomorrow?"

Chuck shrugged. "We'll figure something out."

Just then, Sarah's phone rang. She had to unzip a portion of her armor, and then there was a complicated looking buckle and snaps arrangement, Chuck noted for later, in case he needed to get her out of that armor in a hurry, but she managed to get her phone out before it went to voicemail. She glanced at the caller ID and frowned. Unknown caller. "Hello?"

"Who is it?" Chuck said.

Sarah put up a finger, asking him to hang on. "Uh-huh," Sarah said, and barked a laugh. "Okay. Exactly how did you think that was a good idea? Uh-huh. No, I get it. And you were giving me trouble about going native? No, I know, we're on our way."

"What's up?" Chuck asked.

Sarah laughed again. "Casey and Morgan got arrested... well, actually, I don't think they're exactly under arrest, yet. They're being held by convention security. I don't think either of them is going to be allowed back on the convention floor."

"What!" Chuck said. "Oh, my god, what happened?"

"Casey kept heckling the Spy-Attack panel about factual inaccuracies until they called security. And then Morgan..."

"Morgan wouldn't leave the panel, and so he made a scene because he's been obsessed with that game for months..." Chuck jumped to the obvious conclusion.

"One thing led to another..."

"And Casey punched somebody out?"

"That's about the size of it," Sarah admitted. "Morgan apparently hit someone on the development team with the Sand-Worm costume at one point during the scuffle.

Chuck looped an arm around her armored shoulders. "Come on, Mrs. Bartowski, let's go bail out Casey and Morgan."

"Mrs. Bartowski," Sarah mused and rested her head on his shoulder. "God, I like the sound of that."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Reviews will decrease the wait between chapters by an unspecified, yet mathematically significant amount of time. Seriously, I always get a charge out of reviews that translates into me working harder. If only NaNoWriMo had similar feedback protocols, I wouldn't be 12000 words behind.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: This chapter is not so momentous as last chapter, but Chuck and Sarah can't get hitched at Comic-Con every week. That way lies madness! And mini-quiche. (Why mini-quiche? Because, they're like baby-in-a-snail-costume, that's why. Is it a quiche? Or is it... okay this joke is falling apart faster than I can put it back together again.)

Thanks to _daywalkr82 _for some super-fast beta-turnaround this chapter. Nice work, bro!

Also! Reader _ersk4_ brings to my attention a horrible, glaring oversight on my part, and an embarrassing failing for me as a noted comic-book nerd. The first appearance of the Galactic Golem was in _Superman_ #248, _not_ #244 as I erroneously stated in the previous chapter! Nice catch, buddy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or Sarah, though if I did, they'd be married by now, so... when you think about it...

* * *

Chapter 26:

* * *

Sarah rolled over, one hand searching through the sheets for Chuck. Her eyes snapped open after a few seconds and she puffed her bangs out of her eyes, grumbling a curse under her breath. Chuck in bed with her had just been a dream. They hadn't managed to slip away after the wedding for anything more than a few minutes. And now they were back in LA and Casey was on a surveillance and security kick, which, sadly, meant she had yet to consummate her marriage vows.

Almost every day now, the Colonel spent most of his time going through the logs for the day, or replacing the cameras with newer, harder-to-hack models, which meant Chuck had to have signifigant time alone in Castle to restore his control over the cameras, which Casey made impossible by _always _being in Castle. She had gotten accustomed to letting Chuck loop the surveillance feeds so she could hold hands with him or give other quick little touches, and now even those were being taken from her. The pressure was getting to both of them, and the _one_ time in the month since Comic-Con that they'd been able to steal a couple hours just to themselves, the constant worry about being discovered had left Chuck physically unable to perform. That had been embarrassing for both of them, and Sarah had backed off substantially afterward. Chuck was blaming himself, and even though Sarah knew better, there hadn't been a chance to set him straight.

She had tried to explain in a text on her burner but didn't think Chuck was completely over the incident, so she didn't want to risk a second try until she was sure he was up to it. To make a bad situation worse, Casey was making life difficult in entirely new and unhelpful ways, and the way he constantly tried to emasculate Chuck was grinding on her nerves to the point that she seriously considered lacing the Colonel's morning coffee with syrup of Ipecac and Turbo Lax. Because neither was horrible enough on its own.

If the Colonel had been paranoid _before_ Comic-Con, then he was something else entirely now. She didn't have a word for it, and there hadn't been an opportunity to ask Chuck without one of the audio bugs recording it; he was always coming up with silly names for how paranoid or scary things were, and this would have been an opportunity for him to shine. Another frustration: Chuck could still loop some of the cameras, but they were never alone long enough anymore for it to be practical. In a lot of ways, being married just made matters _worse _somehow, and Sarah had been woefully unprepared for that turn of events. She could have text messaged him again about last week, but it would probably just make things worse. That conversation needed to be face-to-face. Still, alone in her bed, with her damn _husband_ all the way across town, and him probably still feeling like it was all his fault, she considered it anew. Thinking about that word, _husband,_ in conjunction with Chuck usually lifted her spirits, but after their failure to launch the week before, she was a nervous wreck. Hopefully it hadn't been something she'd done or said, or some bizarre Intersect side-effect. Could the Governor be regulating blood-flow to his brain and stopping him from... _That_ was a chilling thought, and she realized soon after that her worries were spiraling in on themselves and becoming more and more outlandish. Sarah eventually snagged her burn phone from its secret compartment in her nightstand, deciding she needed a pick-me-up.

She was halfway through a thoroughly salacious text message when her iPhone rang. She leaned over and peered at the caller ID: Beckman. Perfect, now the general was interrupting her _electronic_ sex-life. Sarah heaved a much-put-upon sigh and scooped up her phone after she saved the filthy text as a draft for later. "Walker here," she said, trying to keep the venom out of her voice, though it was a losing battle.

"Is something the matter, Agent Walker," Beckman said tartly, but Sarah got the sense, as always, that the question was more out of formality than any actual curiosity. If the General _didn't _ask those kinds of questions, people would realize she was merely a robot programmed to keep Sarah from getting laid.

"No ma'am," Sarah lied, "you just woke me up."

"Fine, fine," Beckman muttered absently, "I need you in Castle ASAP. Something has come up. There should be a car waiting outside."

Sarah frowned at the phone. "Is that necessary? My driver's license doesn't expire for _years_, General. I'm perfectly capable of driving myself across town."

"The escort is for your protection, Sarah," Beckman explained. "You can drive your Porsche if you want, just don't lose the protective detail. We may have a breach. I don't trust the STE enough lately to say more over a phone line. Get to Castle and I'll explain further."

That was ominous enough that Sarah sat staring at the phone for several seconds after Beckman hung up. _Damn it.

* * *

_

"No, _you_ don't understand, Chuck!" Lester said. "She's ruining everything!"

"Yeah, you said that," Chuck shrugged. "I just think saying she's Yoko Ono is putting kind of a melodramatic take on it. Whether she's ruining 'everything' or not, is besides the point. My concern is how you equate _Jeffster_ to _the Beatles_. You are not the Beatles."

Lester glared. "But the theory is sound, you just—"

Chuck shook his head. "_You are not the Beatles._" Lester threw up his hands and stormed away from the Nerd Herd desk, leaving Chuck to sigh helplessly. _Lester _was supposed to be manning the desk, not Chuck, and now, he was disappearing to wherever it was he went. Lately, that couldn't be Jeff's 'office,' in the out-of-order men's room stall, because Jeff and Nasty were probably in there doing... well the rest of that joke really wrote itself, causing Chuck to cut off the line of thought with a shudder.

"Good, I thought he'd never leave," a gruff voice said behind him. Chuck jumped a little, instinctively falling into 'the Morgan.' Casey grabbed him by the back of his neck. "C'mon, moron, briefing time."

Chuck slumped with relief, but shook his head. "Can't leave the Nerd Herd station unattended."

Casey growled something under his breath. It didn't take a whole lot of imagination to tell it wasn't very nice. "You're coming down to Castle, right now; that's an order."

Chuck grimaced. "I'm trying to maintain my cover, Casey. If I just disappear without getting someone to—"

Casey grabbed him by the ear and started dragging him toward the break room. "This is important, Bartowski."

"More important than keeping my job at the Buy More?"

Casey's glare said volumes, and Chuck subsided.

Sarah was already in Castle waiting for them, along with a pair of agents in standard issue G-man suits. Chuck didn't recognize them, but it was irregular enough that he feared the worst. Somehow they'd figured it out about him and Sarah, and now, all their plans were moot.

Beckman's face was already up on the plasma screen. "Good," she said, "We're all here." Beckman nodded to the suits. "Agents Phelps, Bader? Please bring in our guest."

Chuck frowned. Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought. He glanced over at Sarah, but her body language didn't tell him anything, and she was frowning sourly at a file folder in front of her on the conference table. Casey forced Chuck into a chair opposite her, and stood behind him, looming just enough to put him even more on edge. Beckman's face was unreadable as well. What the heck was going on? "Our interrogation of the captives from the San Francisco mission has yielded unexpected results. The Ring agent you subdued, Chuck was operating mostly overseas, so we were forced to hand the mission off to the only other friendly agent who knows about the Intersect. Speak of the devil," Beckman said a few moment later when Phelps and Bader returned.

"Did you miss me?" Cole Barker said to the room at large, with his customary grin. Chuck blinked in shock.

"Pleasantries can wait, Agent Barker," Beckman said. "There's a lot to go over. Phelps, Bader. Thank you, but you aren't cleared for the rest of this conversation." The two agents nodded and filed out of the room.

Barker watched them out of the room, thoughtfully. "Now, with your permission?" The General nodded. "Your intel was spot on. Nice work, Chuck. Until recently, I was under cover in Berlin, but DEA sent in some bird and bollocksed up six months of work. Still, it freed me up to help you lot out on this."

Sarah frowned at Cole's description of Carina as 'some bird,' but kept it to herself. "We tracked the bank account your men dragged out of Fyorodenko to a flat in London which we believe belonged to someone codenamed 'The Director.'" Cole continued, "However, when MI5 raided the place, all they found was a USB pen drive."

Beckman nodded. "Thank you, Agent Barker," she said. "The contents of the drive were heavily encrypted via a method SIS were unable to crack, so they handed the operation back over to NSA. This is where things get... problematic for us. You'll recall the incident over Fourth of July weekend?"

Sarah nodded. "You thought there was a leak in your chain of command."

Beckman nodded. "Yes, and we were right. A low level CIA analyst somehow managed to breach NSA firewall and copied the data. We have him in interrogation now, but so far, he hasn't cracked. We're still tracking the rat-line the Ring used to get his information out, but... it's easier if I just show you." A surveillance video replaced the view of Beckman's office. Chuck frowned.

"What are we looking at?" he asked. "Is that Sarah? I don't recognize..."

Sarah froze. "It's Paris," she said breathlessly, "five years ago. One of my first solo missions. There was a mole at CIA... and..." Chuck hated that he couldn't put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

Casey grunted. "Your first kill, Walker? Why would the Ring care about that?"

Beckman grit her teeth, and the video paused as Sarah spun around, gun drawn on a brown-haired woman. "It's this woman who is important: Walker's target. Somehow, the Ring smuggled a copy of this video into Shaw's secure bunker. In his escape, he put three agents in Critical Care."

"Escape?" Chuck said. "Why would he..."

"The woman you killed, Agent Walker, was Evelyn Shaw." A CIA dossier replaced the video feed. "Shaw's wife."

Casey let out a low whistle. "Why didn't we know about this earlier? This wasn't in Shaw's file?"

Beckman shook her head. "The relevant portions of Shaw's file had been redacted. We don't currently know by who, but at this point, Shaw appears to be the prime suspect in that regard. I suppose, it could have been Graham, but the paperwork isn't as complete as it could be, and I don't see a motive. Shaw is more likely.

Casey shook his head in shock. "Shaw knows _every_thing about the Intersect project. Are—do we think he's gone over to the Ring? Or has he been a double this whole time? Are our covers compromised?"

Beckman shrugged helplessly. "We don't know. Our current operating assumption is that he was not a Ring operative prior to this point. We don't have enough information to make a determination of his current allegiance. Best case scenario is that he's merely gone rogue and will attempt to assassinate Agent Walker when he arrives in Los Angeles. His current whereabouts are unknown, but you should work under the fairly safe assumption he's on his way to LA."

Chuck barely contained his anger. '_Best case:' _someone with first-hand knowledge of their operating procedures and extensive CIA training was gunning for his wife? Sure, Sarah could take care of herself —that was _never_ in doubt— but Shaw was as cold blooded an agent as Chuck had ever run across. In Berlin, he'd shot a man with not even a flicker of emotion, a man, no less, who he himself admitted had once been, if not a friend, a close acquaintance and briefly a comrade-in-arms. What would Shaw do to avenge his wife? What _wouldn't _the man do? Very briefly Chuck imagined himself in Shaw's place; what wouldn't _he _do if someone killed _Sarah_? He suddenly felt very cold, and sick to his stomach. Chuck managed to smooth his face somehow and raised his hand. "Could I see the information you have on this 'Director'?" he asked, "Do we know where _he_ is at least?"

Beckman nodded to Sarah. "Give him the file," Sarah slid the thin folder across the table. It was thin in more ways than one, a picture of Shaw, the bank account number, pictures from the apartment safehouse in London that Cole and MI5 had raided, and pictures from Shaw's secure protection bunker before and after the escape. Chuck sighed in frustration, there was nothing else in the folder.

"There's nothing else? That's it?" he said, turning the question on Cole.

Agent Barker shook his head. "The name on the apartment was Vito Markassian. Obviously an alias, but I ran it though all the databases: SIS, MI5. I even pulled in a favor with a bloke I know at FSB, though I didn't tell him what I wanted it for. No hits _anywhere_. The man doesn't bloody exist except on that one lease."

Chuck shuddered and nearly collapsed when the flash took him. Casey was closest and managed to catch Chuck before he fell out of his chair.

"Bloody hell," Cole said. "Chuck are you alright? What _was _that?"

"You okay, moron?" Casey asked. Sarah chewed her lip, torn between her bone-deep concern for Chuck that nearly pulled her out of her seat and across the table to him, and Beckman's eyes boring into her from the video link.

Chuck blinked several times. "I flashed on the name."

Beckman frowned. "But we ran the name through CIA and NSA as well; why would..."

Chuck grimaced. "Meadow Branch," was all he said.

"When Orion wiped the Intersect data, he must not have known about those files," Beckman mused, shocked, but thoughtful. "What did you learn?"

"Markassian: he's listed as a primary shareholder in a private charter airline. Badger International? I'd never heard of it."

Sarah went to the mainframe and pulled up the FAA listing of scheduled flights. "What are you thinking, Walker?" Casey asked.

"Private charters don't have to list passengers, but they still have to file flight plans. If this is... yes, the company is very small, they just have four planes registered to the company. Only five or six listed flights each day. Chuck, this is huge. This could be how the Ring's inner circle travels the country." She glanced down the list. "We need to get this to our analysts," Sarah said to Beckman. "I'm sending it now. What day was the raid, Cole?"

Barker leaned forward, "August second."

"Only four flights that day," Sarah said, voice determined as she glanced over the list. "And just the one out of Heathrow. He arrived in Sacramento the same day. What's in Sacramento?"

Beckman's face drained of color on the video monitor. "The Cipher."

Team Bartowski's collective jaws dropped. Cole frowned at their reactions. "Anyone mind filling me in here? I feel like the poor, little, fat berk everyone picks last for Cricket."

Chuck stared at Beckman's face on the video screen. "The Cipher is the heart of the Intersect computer," he said, when no one else spoke into the odd silence. "Without it, the project doesn't function. How long have you been trying to rebuild the Intersect?"

Beckman rolled her eyes. "Since the last one was destroyed, of course. No offense intended, Agent Bartowski, but the United States of America has never been known for putting all of its eggs in one basket. If something happens to you, we need a functioning replacement." She took in the surprised expressions on Sarah and Casey as well. "You two should have expected this. In time of emergency the President and the Vice President are never in the same place at the same time, to preserve the chain of command. It's only logical. Redundancy in strategic assets is one of the cornerstones of effective national security, for _any_ country. _One_ Intersect was never going to be enough."

"But now the Ring is attempting to build one of their own as well," Casey said, "How tight is security in Sacramento? For all we know, they might have the Cipher already. This 'Director' has been in the city for at least two weeks."

"No, they don't have the Cipher itself yet. The project is running behind schedule. It was supposed to be completed roughly... yes, two weeks ago, when the Director seems to have arrived. You'll all head to Sacramento immediately. If the Ring is trying to steal the Cipher, you need to stop them. Apprehend or kill the Director if you can. I'll have the jet ready in half an hour."

Chuck shook his head. "We can't do that."

Everyone looked at Chuck, frowning. "Why not, Bartowski?" Casey growled, "We need to move quickly. We're already behind the eight ball here."

"Shaw," Chuck said, "You said it yourself, General; best case: he's rogue. Worst case: he's switched sides entirely. We have to assume the worst case scenario."

Beckman got it first, and shook her head in frustration. "You're right. Shaw knows our protocols inside and out; plus he knows your identities in particular. In either event, he's likely hacked into flight records. Using the NSA Gulfstream would be like lighting a signal fire. Either Shaw himself would try to take you down, or he could alert the Ring to your arrival, if he's switched sides. We can't risk either course of events."

Everyone fell silent, working through the implications. If they tried to fly commercial, there would be picture IDs required. Shaw would recognize them at a glance. Airport security was sometimes lacking, but disguising themselves enough that their faces wouldn't be recognizable would take several hours, and they would risk being discovered at the security checkpoint. Add in the time it took to have suitable cover legends put in place to make sure Shaw couldn't tip the Director to their arrival time, and it all added up to one inevitable conclusion...

Casey grunted. "How far is Sacramento? It might be faster just to drive."

Chuck grinned and held up his hand to Casey for a high-five. "Road trip!"

"I'm still recovering from the last road trip you dragged me on," Casey glowered, pointedly leaving Chuck hanging.

Chuck turned desperately, hand still upraised. "Cole? Sarah? Somebody? This is starting to feel really awkward." Sarah suppressed a grin at his cuteness but resolutely refused to high-five him.

* * *

"Here," Casey said, holding out a red capsule. "Take this, then go talk to Big Mike."

Chuck held the capsule gingerly. "What is it?"

"Not important," The Colonel said. "Just take it; it's part of your cover."

Chuck frowned. "Yes, that _always _works on me. Duty, honor, country, weird pills I don't know the side effects of. Come on, Casey."

"We don't have time for this. It's a six-hour drive to Sacramento if we _don't_ hit traffic," Casey said. "Take the pill, or I make you take the pill."

Chuck shrugged nervously. "Can I get some water at least?"

Casey glowered down at him. Despite only being an inch or so taller than Chuck, he suddenly managed to loom over him. "Barker," Casey said absently and caught a flying water bottle without breaking eye contact with Chuck. The plastic made a solid clap against his palm, and the Colonel held the bottle out to Chuck. "Now, take the damn pill."

Chuck sighed and did as he was told. Casey looked at his watch and nodded in satisfaction, before practically booting Chuck back through the entrance in the break-room lockers. "Go find Big Mike!"

"But you didn't even tell me my cover story," Chuck complained in a whisper.

"Move it. Meet us in the parking lot when you're through."

Chuck sighed in exasperation and went in search of Big Mike. The Buy More store manager wasn't in his office. Chuck glanced at his watch. Of course, it was just after one in the afternoon. Big Mike was easing into the second hour of his lunch break and probably reading a fishing magazine in the home theater room.

As Chuck made his way across the sales floor, Morgan accosted him. "Hey, Chuckster! You've got a line of angry customers backing up at the Nerd Herd desk," he said. "Probably want to do something about that before I, as your superior officer, have to make an example of you."

Chuck groaned feebly, and his stomach wobbled. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, breathing deep, suddenly nauseated. "Urk," he said eloquently.

"Chuck, dude! Are you alright?" Morgan said and put a hand on Chuck's shoulder gently.

"I don't feel so good," Chuck said.

"Oh dude, are you going to ralph?" Morgan said. "Not cool, man."

"I think..." Chuck started, but his stomach tried to do a back roundoff into a cartwheel, and he veered toward the bathroom. He barely made it into the stall in time to empty his stomach, and when he came out, feeling only marginally better, Big Mike and Morgan were both waiting for him, looking concerned.

"No arguing, now, Bartowski, I want you to head home and get some rest," Big Mike held out both hands with fingers crossed to ward off evil. "I don't want you spreading that vileness to the customers, or more importantly, _me. _I've got plans with my Latin flower tonight.

Morgan let out a groan at this revelation.

"I'll take him," Casey said, and Chuck realized for the first time that the Colonel was in his street clothes, instead of his Greenshirt outfit.

"Thanks a lot, John," Big Mike said. "Just be sure you don't come down with this bug, too. This is prime barbecue weather, and I need my number one salesman in fighting shape."

"Yes, sir," Casey said. Chuck imagined him giving a salute when he said it, but that was probably intentional on Casey's part.

Chuck's steps were still a little wobbly as Casey dragged him toward the exit. He swallowed bile and shuddered. "Holy cow, Casey, what was in that pill?"

"Need to know, Bartowski," Casey grunted unhelpfully. "Need to know."

* * *

"So," Cole said, in the parking lot when he had Chuck alone. "Whatever happened with you and Walker?"

Chuck frowned. Now wasn't the time to be having this conversation. If he could _never _have this particular conversation, with this particular person, it still wouldn't be the right time. "It's..." Chuck couldn't figure out immediately what he should say. Cole wouldn't likely buy an 'it's just professional' line, but if he did, he'd probably just try to make a play for Sarah again. And Cole Barker was many things, but Chuck sincerely doubted he'd go after a married woman, if he _knew _she was married, but, Chuck couldn't just _tell _him that he and Sarah were married, and... Cole's return was just really extraordinarily poor timing.

"Hmm..." Cole said when Chuck faltered. "Interesting."

"What? I didn't say anything!"

Cole furrowed his brow in thought. "Yes, exactly. I know the CIA doesn't exactly do backflips for joy when two agents..." He made an improper gesture using both hands that made Chuck blush, and Chuck knew he'd given something away when Cole cocked his head to one side.

"It's complicated," Chuck said. Was _that _ever the truth.

"Chuck!" Sarah said, from across the parking lot, waving him over. Cole followed, probably with the sole purpose of making him feel more uncomfortable.

"Hey, Sarah," Chuck said in greeting. "I thought we'd be taking the Vic?"

She shook her head. "No, we might need more than one car in Sacramento to set up a proper tail on the Director, and because the Ring may still have CIA penetrated, we can't call in backup from the Station Chief in Sacramento. Get in, Chuck."

Cole smiled disarmingly. "Room for one more?"

Sarah frowned through the driver's side window. "Sorry, it's just a two-seater.*" Cole leaned over to peer into the interior of the Porsche as Chuck buckled up. He eyed Sarah, and then Chuck, eyes narrowed and lips turned down in a thoughtful frown. He arched an eyebrow, and then broke into a grin.

"Sorry I missed the wedding," Cole said. Sarah's poker face didn't reveal anything, but Chuck's eyes widened momentarily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah said.

Cole smirked. "Of course not," he said, "I don't know what I was thinking." He flashed them both a knowing wink. "Forget I said anything, I know I intend to. But really, congratulations, the both of you." He waved and sauntered back over to Casey, helping him load a pair of duffel bags, which, if they knew Casey, were filled with various automatic weaponry, into the Crown Victoria's trunk. Once he was out of earshot, Sarah rounded on Chuck.

"You told him?" She said angrily.

"No, what? Of course not, I just said it was... complicated. If I'd told him we were still just professional, he'd have tried to make another pass at you..."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "And I'd have shot him down harder than last time," she said. "But instead, you tried to stop him hitting on me in a fairly transparent fashion, which was as good as telling him we were together but trying to hide it, which made the deduction we might get married to avoid being split up all the easier. Didn't you learn this lesson when Devon's brother figured us out and pretended to hit on me?"

Chuck sighed. "I guess not," he said, a touch defensively.

Sarah laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Relax, Chuck, we can trust Cole not to say anything."

"You sure about that?"

"He resisted _torture_ last time, remember?"

"Yeah, but six hours in a car with Casey is something else entirely," he said. "And besides, last time, he was trying to get into your pants. Talk about your motivating factors."

Sarah let out a sigh. "You really need to let that go. You're a much better kisser than him anyway."

"Really?" Chuck asked dubiously.

Sarah rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. "_Much _better. Now, do you know any road trip games besides Slug-Bug? I don't want to be accused of domestic violence after my crushing victory."

"Well, there's the always classic, 'Song that doesn't end'?" Chuck said.

Sarah frowned, unsure what he was talking about. "I don't know that one."

Chuck grinned, and with a sinking feeling, Sarah knew that this was going to be a _long _drive.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

*This is a lie. Sarah's Porsche _does _have a back seat, as may come up in future chapters... but probably not, due to the T rating.

A/N: As some of you have deduced, given where _Vs. the Bunker_ begins, this story is approaching an ending. But, there's still some awesome stuff upcoming with Shaw's _final_ arc, and then Charah on the run.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: So this chapter is a little more than the two week period I usually try to have be the longest I make people wait between chapters. My fault, I threw this chapter to beta (_daywalkr82_) with a really weaksauce ending, and he called me on it. He was totally right, and you're all going to benefit.

Disclaimer: I dont' own Chuck. That should be obvious by the amount of _not_ getting paid for this that I do. (It's a lot)

* * *

Chapter 27:

* * *

"Some people... started singing it," Sarah shouted to the open road, over the roar of the wind in her hair, "_not knowing what it was! _And they'll continue singing it forever just because—"

"This is the song that doesn't end!" Chuck took up the tune and they sang the brief refrain in harmony. "Yes it goes on and on, my friend. Some people—" Sarah stopped singing and Chuck cut off as well. They'd been at it for nearly half an hour. "What's wrong?"

"I think Casey took I5, like he said. I was afraid he was going to double back around and try to tail us, but he would have caught up to us by now if he was doing that..." Sarah frowned, checking her rear-view and side mirrors and then craning her neck to get a better look at the cars behind them. "So... nothing's wrong."

Chuck frowned. "What—?" he started, but she was already slowing, pulling the Porsche off to the side of the road. "Why are we stopping?"

"We need to talk," Sarah said. "and before you say 'uh-oh,' this isn't that kind of talk." She undid her seat-belt and pushed herself up slightly from her seat, enough to get her legs free. With the convertible top down, she didn't risk hitting her head. Sarah spun and planted herself, straddling Chuck's lap, shoving him back in his seat. She whispered, lips nearly brushing his. "This is a good talk."

"I'll say..." Chuck said and leaned in to kiss her. Sarah let the kiss build intensity slowly, not pushing or expecting anything from it. God, she'd missed touching his face.

Finally, she broke the kiss and chewed her lip. It was an awkward topic to bring up, but... "About last week," she said.

Chuck sighed. "And suddenly this isn't so good of a talk anymore. Sarah, I'm really sorry about—" she cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips.

"Shh," Sarah whispered, "do you know what the foremost cause of... what happened is? It's stress. And I've been causing a lot of that stress, trying to make you keep up with Casey's crazy surveillance restructuring, always pushing. I just... I need you to know it's not your fault. I never thought it was, and you looked so disappointed it... it crushed me."

"Sarah," Chuck said, mildly exasperated. "Is that all you think of me?"

She frowned. That wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting. "What do you mean?"

"Sex isn't everything," he said. "I— don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I don't want—" Sarah's smirk told him he didn't need to bother finishing _that _sentence. "Okay? My main concern is your safety right now. A highly trained CIA maniac is out for your blood. You don't need to be distracting yourself thinking I'm over here beating myself up about last week. That was embarrassing, but I'll get over it. We've got bigger problems right now."

Sarah nodded slowly. "I really did have fun just cuddling," she said, "really."

Chuck squirmed slightly. "Sarah, either you need to get off my lap, or we need to find a hotel that charges by the hour."

"What are you—? Oh. Oh!" She blushed and slid off his lap and carefully over the gearshift back into the driver's seat. "Well, I guess you got over it sooner than I thought." She bit her lip, thinking about a hotel room. To make their convoy less conspicuous they were taking different routes; Chuck and Sarah were driving up State 99, Casey had taken the 5 as the more direct route, though traffic could back up much worse. Sarah did some quick mental calculations. Their trip would already be twenty minutes or so longer than the Colonel's, unless he hit traffic... if they were relatively quick? No, rushing it with Chuck was not how she wanted their first time to go, and putting the pressure to perform on him again so soon didn't strike her as particularly smart, his marked reaction to her on his lap notwithstanding. "Casey will know something's up if we show up three hours late, and he's an interrogation expert."

"I wasn't really serious about the motel," Chuck explained. "I Just wanted to make sure you were aware how close to the point of no return you were getting. Wait. Three hours?"

Sarah grinned. "I appreciate the heads-up. But we _do_ have a code word for that..." She found his hand, laced her fingers through his.

He gave her hand a squeeze. "Right, pineapple, I forgot," Chuck said with a sheepish roll of his shoulder, trying to explain. "I don't think there was a lot of blood left in my brain, sorry."

"Don't be. I'm flattered," Sarah said. "After this mission, though, once Shaw's caught and the Cipher is safe? If we take down the Director in the bargain, I think... it's enough, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Chuck said.

Sarah smiled, slow and warm. "The loss of the Director would cripple the Ring. The CIA won't really _need_ us anymore."

"Yeah, you're right. They've taken enough from me, already. From us, I mean," Chuck said, "but, Beckman said something that... freaked me out a little."

Sarah squeezed his hand reassuringly. "What is it: what's wrong?"

"She called the Intersect a strategic asset," he said. "And I guess I never really thought of it that way before. I mean, sure, I knew that it was important, but the way she said it, it was I don't know... momentous, like there was something else she meant."

Sarah nodded slowly. "You didn't... okay. Chuck, yeah, a strategic asset is kind of unofficial government jargon for a Weapon of Mass Destruction, like nuclear weapons or..."

"_What!_" Chuck exclaimed. "Beckman thinks of me like a nuclear weapon?"

Sarah shrugged, uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. "She always has, even before the 2.0 gave you all that martial arts and God knows what else is in there."

"So when we run, its going to be..." Chuck frowned. "What was that awful movie? _Broken Arrow_?"

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "That code word is out of date, but yeah... wait, what movie?"

"John Travolta and Christian Slater. Travolta played the bad guy?" Chuck explained with a sigh. "I guess there are some benefits to the CIA stealing your pop-culture knowledge. I'd sometimes like to forget that movie."

"Chuck, I..." Sarah faltered. "Are you okay?"

Chuck glanced at her with a quizzical expression. "I'm fine. What are you talking about?"

"Sorry. I couldn't come up with a decent segue," Sarah said. "Last week."

"Sarah," Chuck said in exasperation. This again? "I'm fine."

"No, I know that," she said. "It's just... you know I like to plan things out in detail, and I know that's not really a great way to do things as far as... romance. I don't want to pressure you..."

"Sarah, believe me, being pressured into making love to my wife is probably the least of my concerns right now," Chuck said.

Sarah pouted briefly. She understood, of course, but lately the cold rational part of her brain seemed to be shriveling up, and her hormones were staging a coup thanks to the power vacuum. "You're right. We should concentrate on the mission. But afterward? You tell me where and when, Chuck. I don't care if it's on the conference table in Castle. If we get caught, we get caught."

Chuck's eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. "Uh, wow... that's... oddly specific. And... hang on, have you been thinking about..."

"Throwing you down on that table and mounting you in the middle of a briefing?" Sarah said, "Honestly, I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind... once or twice..."

Chuck blushed uncomfortably and couldn't come up with a witty response to that.

"What's wrong?"

"You're not the only one," Chuck finally said. "But there're a lot of new cameras in there. Probably best if I just sneak over to your place."

Sarah grinned. "Sounds like a plan," she put the Porsche back in gear. "How about a time-frame?"

"Well, I do have a birthday coming up," he said.

"You really want to wait a whole 'nother month?" Sarah said, frowning as she pulled back onto the freeway.

Chuck scoffed. "Of course not, but it'd be better if we're sure the annual security upgrade is finished so I can loop the feeds on my apartment and give us an hour or two to ourselves again."

Sarah's grin was disturbing in its hunger. She arched an eyebrow. "Three or four."

Chuck frowned. "What?"

"Shoot for three, or better yet, four hours," she explained, "not one or two. If you can get five or six, even better."

Chuck swallowed nervously. "Eyes on the road, please?" It was a weak rejoinder, but he would always be a little intimidated by her. It was probably a good thing to wait a month; when they got back to Burbank was probably the time to start working on his cardio with Awesome. Maybe he'd ask him for that weird protein shake recipe, the one that was supposed to be good for the 'wang energy.'

Sarah drove relatively sedately the rest of the way up to Sacramento. Sedately, for Sarah Walker, meaning she left it in fifth the whole way and just swerved around other cars so she didn't have to down-shift, but she kept it mostly under 120, so: sedately. This left her right hand free for... other activities, like playing with Chuck's hair. It had grown out some after that horrible cut Ellie had forced on him while Sarah was out of town. That particular hair-cut was not going to be making a comeback if she had anything to say about it, and she totally did.

"I'm sorry?" Chuck said.

"Why did you let her do that to you?" Sarah said.

"The hair cut?" he shrugged. "Well, she's always been on me to dress neater, and I guess my hair has just always been a part of that, from her perspective. You've only known Ellie for four years. I've lived with her my whole life."

"Still, you should consult with me on these sorts of things," Sarah insisted.

Chuck frowned. "Do you have to consult with me before you get hair-cuts? I doubt it. Was that in the vows somewhere? I know the JP went pretty quick, but I'm pretty sure I would have remembered, a requirement to..."

"Chuck," Sarah said warningly. "It's not that you have to, but you should _want _to. I mean, your sister's great and all, but she's not the one who has to live with you." Chuck opened his mouth, and Sarah's glare shut him down. "Ideally, and I miss the sexy animal shapes."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Ellie calls them funny animal shapes and makes me get hair-cuts."

"Well, Chuck," Sarah said. "I hate to break it to you, but your sister is clearly insane."

"Noted," Chuck grinned. "Oh, is that our new base of operations?" he pointed. "Kind of a dump, isn't it?"

Sarah sighed and strove mightily not to roll her eyes at him. "That's the point. Ugh, Cole and Casey beat us here."

"I thought they were supposed to, the 5 is a faster drive and..."

"Still, Casey's going to be insufferable about American craftsmanship and dependability being better than my German-engineered, speed-demon." This time she did roll her eyes. "The things I put up with for you..."

Their new base of operations was a run-down commercial building of some kind. Judging from the awning out front, it might once have been a gas station, but the pumps had been pulled out long ago, leaving an odd feeling about the place. It felt almost like an Old-West-style ghost town, only in the thriving city of Sacramento. Paint was peeling off the walls, and instead of grass in the tiny square that had once been landscaped, there was just a straggle of dying weeds.

Casey waved at them from the doorway, and Sarah cut the engine. "Here we go. Game face, Chuck."

"I don't have a game face," he protested, "just my regular one."

"Work on one," she said, turning to greet Casey. "Hey, John, so, how's the safehouse look?"

Casey shrugged. "We just got here. Haven't had time to do a full inspection. It's a lot better on the inside than out, though."

"So, why don't you give us the five-cent tour?" Chuck said.

Casey grunted and waved for Chuck and Sarah to follow. The front wall of what had once been a gas station had been replaced with glass brick, translucent enough to stop anyone from peering inside, and the door, once glass, had been replaced with a heavy metal contraption of some kind. The frame looked reinforced as well. It wasn't quite a fortress, but it might do in a pinch. Once inside, Cole was visible, with his feet propped on the card table, leaning back in a folding chair, reading out of a red-bordered Top Secret folder. He nodded absently at them when they came in, but went back to his reading.

Casey had been right. The ramshackle exterior was just for show—with all the windows blacked, no one could see inside—the interior was decorated in the same vein as Castle, with a plasma screen and a bank of monitors along one wall, and the beginnings of a small armory along the other.

"Bunk house is through there," Casey pointed. "You can throw down your stuff, then we've got work to do. We need to go rent a van for the stakeout. Now where's my nickel?"

Chuck frowned, fishing in his pockets. It was wiser just to pay up than risk some kind of altercation where Casey tried to emasculate him in front of Cole. And Sarah, but that was really an after-thought. If she hadn't been put off by it to this point, she probably wouldn't divorce him over a couple of one liners. Still, something was nagging at him. "We brought two cars; why do we need a van?"

"Shaw has seen both our cars," Casey said. "Better safe than sorry. Come on, Bartowski, you're with me. Walker probably needs a drink and a visit to the kick-boxing dummy in the basement after being stuck in a car with you for six hours."

Chuck sighed and followed him out again, and they piled into the Vic. "Seatbelts," Casey admonished.

"Yes, mom," Chuck grumbled.

"Hey!" Casey said. "I call you a girl, not the other way around. Learn some boundaries."

"Why did you need me along on this again?" Chuck said.

"I can't drive two cars at once," Casey shrugged. "Much as it pains me to admit."

"Right, sorry. I should have thought about that," Chuck said, frowning. "Hey, why didn't you call me Moron? That was one I should have figured out on my own."

"Eh, that's mostly for Walker's benefit. After you broke her heart in Prague, I figured I needed to show some partnerly solidarity. Don't take it personal, but _that_ was a _really_ bonehead move you pulled. I understand it, but still, I never saw you as one to choose duty over love."

It was probably the longest personal speech he had ever heard from Casey, and Chuck let out a very Casey-like grunt as he thought back. Casey's belligerent attitude toward him had been fading since the incident with the Shwarma girl and then the first Cipher they'd gone after, only to redouble after he'd gotten the 2.0. Chuck hadn't bothered looking for other factors, but now it seemed almost blindingly obvious. He felt unaccountably better.

* * *

Sarah watched the Crown Victoria pull out of the parking lot with a longing look, waiting in the doorway until it was completely lost to sight before turning back into the safehouse. This left her alone with Cole Barker. It didn't take a lifelong spy to know that an awkward conversation was in the offing.

"So, you have to admit: that was a nice shot, making you and Chuck for newlyweds, shooting blind as I was. Never pegged you for the marrying kind," he said, putting down the Top Secret folder.

"Right, because you met me for all of a week?" Sarah countered, "Please."

Cole shrugged. "I didn't mean anything by it. Most people in our line of work, we close ourselves off, never let anyone close. Makes the job easier, but it's not exactly healthy from an emotional standpoint. That's all I meant. It was supposed to be a compliment."

Sarah frowned. "I'm not sure how to respond to that. Last time, your compliments were a little more of the double entendre variety. I never pegged you as a complicated guy."

Cole grinned. "Right, because you met me for all of a week? Please."

Sarah snorted. "Alright, touché, Agent Barker. This conversation isn't going to get any less awkward, is it?"

He shook his head. "The odds don't seem promising, no."

"Maybe I should put on my wedding ring," Sarah said. "You seem to still be trying to flirt with me just a little."

"Yes. But just a little," Cole said, putting up his hand with forefinger and thumb half an inch apart. "That's your standard, married-bird-level flirting you're getting right there," he explained. "I somehow don't feel comfortable moving down to octogenarian levels of flirting, and that's the next step down the list." Cole paused. "But, there is another elephant in the room, as it were. Casey doesn't know you and Bartowski jumped the broom?"

"He doesn't," Sarah confirmed. "I was a little worried you might have blabbed."

Cole made a hurt face and clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. "You think I don't know how to keep secrets? My agency's got 'Secret' right there in its name. It's so secret most people still think we're called MI6. What's the CIA rule about couples on active field duty? I forget the actual wording."

"I can't quote the regs at you, but the standard response is reassignment, if the brass catches wind. Usually somewhere where it snows year-round. I'd be heading up the CIA desk at the Norwegian consulate maybe? Maybe Iceland? Someplace dull and dreary with little chance of career advancement, until you quit."

Cole glanced down and pushed the folder around absently. "Why not just quit now, then, and avoid all the silliness?"

"Chuck's the Intersect. You know that, and you know what that means. Beckman won't let him quit with me, not until she's got Intersect redundancy. She practically said as much at the briefing. Did I strike you as the 'waiting patiently until the CIA's ready to let me have a personal life' type?"

"Well, I only met you for a week, as you so helpfully pointed out, but to be honest?" Cole raised both eyebrows. "Yes."

"Maybe I was. People change."

Cole shook his head. "Not in my experience, but then maybe you're the exception that proves the rule. Anyway, you needn't fear my 'blabbing' was it? I'll keep your secrets, but I'll also probably be forced to ask Chuck for a play-by-play of the wedding night," he said, eyeing her with a decided lack of subtlety.

Sarah frowned for a moment before a suitable comeback sprang to mind. "Just so long as you don't try to get him to 'butter my muffin,' whatever that means."

Cole winced. "He told you about that?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, you have Casey to blame on that front. Chuck wouldn't even repeat something that inappropriate. At least, I think it's inappropriate. Casey seemed to find it hilarious."

"It's all those Puritans you lot let found your country," Cole said with a rueful shake of his head. "They mucked everything up so bad that only since the Seventies have you started to catch back up with the rest of the world in salty-talk." He stood abruptly. "Right then, I'm for a shower. You're welcome to join me."

Sarah glared at him, her fingers twitching absently for one of the knives strapped to her person. "What happened to 'married-bird' level of flirting?"

Cole shrugged. "Old habits, love. That's all. And I have a certain image to uphold. Don't read anything into it. I'm actually proud of Bartowski for getting up the courage to ask you," Cole's eyes widened. "He did ask _you, _didn't he? Didn't just moan about until you had to do the asking? That would be bloody shameful."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and tugged the chain out of her shirt. "His grandmother's ring," was all she offered in explanation.

Cole's smile at that revelation held merely the bare minimum of leering. It was still Cole Barker in there after all. "Good. It'd be a shame if I had to knock some sense into him."

Sarah cracked her knuckles threateningly. "Yes, it would be."

* * *

The van Chuck and Casey had rented was a far cry from the fully outfitted surveillance vehicle they had access to in LA. It was stark white, for one thing, hardly an appropriate color for espionage, Chuck didn't mind saying, although Casey did point out that black vans weren't any less conspicuous than white. Still, in an effort to camouflage the vehicle, Casey found a stepladder and tied it to the roof-rack before slapping an official-looking magnet on the side of the van.

"SMUD?" Chuck asked with a frown.

Casey pointed to each letter in turn. "Sacramento Municipal Utility District," he explained. "I don't get to make up the local power company acronyms."

"I should certainly hope not," Chuck said.

Casey growled. "Just go make sure Walker and Barker aren't sucking face in there, would you?" Chuck glared at his NSA partner with a combination of resentment and hopefully he was pulling off 'hurt' as well. Casey sighed. "Hey, it's not my fault you broke the girl's heart. You've got nobody to blame but yourself, if she decides to find comfort in the arms of the James-Bond-wannabe in there. So, hurry up before he has time to stretch a single into a double. We need to be on the road soon."

"You could use a little work at the reassuring pep-talk there, Case," Chuck said over his shoulder.

"Who said I was trying to be reassuring?" Casey raised his voice so it would carry. "Or _peppy_ for that matter?"

Chuck grumbled under his breath as he opened the safe house door. He knew he didn't really have anything to worry about. Any potential for a Sarah/Cole makeout session had long since evaporated, and Chuck knew it. He trusted Sarah implicitly. He just hoped that Cole knew it too, for _his own_ sake. They didn't have time to take Agent Barker to the emergency room if he'd tried anything untoward. The sight that greeted Chuck as he entered wasn't _exactly _reassuring in that respect. Sarah had an automatic weapon of some kind disassembled in front of her on the card table, with a soiled cleaning cloth in her hands. Chuck didn't know off-hand if that was a telltale sign that it had been fired recently, or if Sarah was just paying her usual careful attention to detail. "Is everything alright?" Chuck said tentatively. "Casey said we need to head out soon. Is Cole... alright?"

Sarah furrowed her brow in brief confusion before glancing at the machine-pistol in pieces on the mat in front of her. She let out a grin and shook her head at the way his mind worked when she realized what he meant. "I didn't have to shoot him for flirting with me," she said. "I thought about putting a knife in the wall next to his ear, briefly, but cooler heads prevailed."

Chuck nodded. "Probably for the best; that might have just encouraged him."

"I don't know what you can mean," Cole's voice said from the adjoining room, the one Casey had mentioned being the bunkhouse.

"Well, come on, Cole," Chuck said. "Last time, what was it? Two or three times you got yourself shot? I thought maybe you had a bullet fetish."

Cole laughed. "No, that was something of a bad week for me. I swear I haven't been shot _or_ tortured even a little bit since," he frowned, "on second thought, why did I agree to come on this mission again?" Sarah arched an eyebrow.

Casey poked his head in the front door. "Come on, _Awkward Team Hunger Force_, grab that communications gear and let's move out."

Chuck's mouth dropped open. Sarah frowned, trying to think what Casey could be talking about. "Where in the _world _did _you, _of all people, learn about that show?" Chuck demanded.

"Where do you think, Moron?" Casey said and his glower turned practically deadly. He spat the last word. "Comic-Con."

Chuck swallowed nervously and thought about it for a moment. "So wait, who does that make Sarah? I guess you could say Frylock is blond? The whole analogy doesn't hold up to proper scrutiny Casey. I expect better of your one-liners." Sarah grinned, suddenly remembering the giant talking box of French fries that had briefly tried to flirt with her that first day in San Diego.

"Shut up and get in the van, Meatwad," Casey grunted.

Chuck pursed his lips. "I guess that makes you Master Shake?"

Sarah snorted and put a hand to her face to cover the giggle that was fighting its way past her agent-mode facade. This time, it was Cole's turn to frown in confusion. "I'm not supposed to be able to make heads or tails of this entire conversation, am I?" he said to no one in particular. "Are you talking in some new CIA code?"

"Next time, I'll set him off on a _Doctor Who _tangent," Sarah said in an attempt to be helpful.

"Oh!" Chuck said. "I have the latest episode in my iPhone!"

"Thanks ever so much, Walker," Cole grated. "I'm not particularly a fan."

Chuck's eyes widened. "Whaaaaat?"

"Oh crap, he's contagious," Casey said, hefting the heavy duffel bags himself. "He's got nerd-pox. Here, make yourselves useful." He threw the first duffel bag at Cole, who caught it with a grunt.

Chuck managed to catch the second, but he staggered back a step, the wind blasting out of his lungs. "Heen!" he wheezed.

"Everybody in the van, dammit!"

Chuck was delegated to assemble the communications gear out of the pair of duffel bags. It was about half as nice as the setup from their surveillance van back in Burbank, although most of that was due to its portability. Apparently Castle's backup set of portable surveillance equipment was built for the wilds of Afghanistan, not the wilds of Sacramento. There was actual camouflage printed on one of the laptops. Chuck paused in mid-setup. "Why didn't we take one of these with us to Afghanistan?"

Casey grunted from the front seat of the van. "Because Shaw threw that mission together with duct tape and bailing wire. We're lucky things went as well as they did."

"I seem to recall the two of you being captured and tortured," Sarah put in.

"Exactly," Casey smirked at her in the rearview. "We're almost to the facility, Bartowski. You get that gear up and running yet?"

"Five more minutes?" Chuck said hopefully, Casey merely grunted. And then, Chuck's iPhone warbled. "Crap," he said, looking at the screen. "It's Morgan... Hey, buddy." Chuck made his voice gravelly, barely croaking intelligibly in an effort to sound sick.

"Dude, where are you? It's almost seven, and you went home early, and it's time to watch _Human Target_. And I know you're a purist, and it's not really _Human Target_ like in the comics, where he steals their identities in order to protect them, but still. Hang on, that brings me back to my main point. Where are you?"

The look on Chuck's face was enough that Sarah took pity on him and snatched the phone away. "Morgan! Chuck isn't supposed to be on the phone. He's contagious, and he's getting virus particles all over it, so now I have to disinfect it."

"Hang on. Who is—Sarah?" Morgan's voice rose about an octave. "What's going on, why are you wherever Chuck—are you and Chuck dating again?"

"It's complicated," Sarah said, precisely because she knew it would tick him off. She held the phone away from her ear while Morgan tried a little primal scream therapy. "Casey called me, because... hang on." Sarah clamped one hand over the speaker. "Did Morgan have Chicken Pox when he was little? Did you?"

Chuck blinked. "What? Why? I... don't remember. I don't think so?"

"Bartowski didn't, it was in his file," Casey chimed in helpfully. "And if his hetero life mate had had it, he'd have definitely infected Bartowski. I see where you're going. Nice work, on the fly like that."

Sarah nodded her thanks to Casey, while Chuck looked on blankly. "Sorry, Morgan. Casey couldn't stay with him, because it looks like Chicken Pox, and Casey never had it as a kid. I did, so..."

"Oh. Okay. Hey, you didn't really answer my question about if you and Chuck—"

"Morgan. Butt out," Sarah growled and hung up. Chuck held out his hand for his phone, but Sarah arched an eyebrow and tucked the phone into one of the pockets of her tactical vest. "You finished rigging the equipment? No iPhone games for you until you finish your homework."

Chuck grumbled under his breath as he worked.

* * *

They arrived at the facility just after seven, and Chuck's stomach started growling. They'd only stopped to eat once on the drive up from Burbank, and it was just hitting him then. "Any chance we could grab a burger before we get started? You know what they say about breaking and entering on an empty stomach."

Casey cracked a grin. "No, I don't. What do 'they' say?"

"Uh," Chuck said. "You know... stuff?"

"What I thought," Casey said, and jumped out of the van. He yanked the sliding door open and climbed into the back with Chuck and Sarah. "Okay, here's how it goes down. Barker's with me, we'll go in, tap into building security and wire the feeds back to you. I'm going to need you to talk us through security on the way in. The specs should be—"

"Got 'em," Sarah called, unrolling a large blueprint of the building that Beckman had supplied them with.

"Right," Casey went on. "Security on the Cipher is already pretty tight, but just to be safe, we're going to steal it, and replace it with this duplicate." He held up a clear plastic box holding a familiar circular chip. "Then we wait and see if anybody bites. Any questions?"

"Why do I have to wait in the van?" Chuck protested. "I've got all—"

Sarah nudged him in the side and glanced pointedly at Cole, leaning in the side door, puzzled. Casey cleared his throat. "You've got the tech knowledge, Bartowski. We need the nerd, not the Intersect on this Op. Walker here's going to babysit you, and make sure you_ stay _in the van for once." Casey grimaced, as if coming to a difficult decision. "Alright. Since Bartowski's still antsy around guns, Walker, I've got something special for you."

Sarah frowned. "What for, Casey? I've already got an MP5."

"Don't complain. This is the first time I let anybody who ain't me touch my best girl."

Cole's puzzled expression deepened and he shielded his mouth with one hand, whispering loud enough to be heard by all three. "What's going on?"

Casey silenced the SIS agent with a glare, and found a large black plastic case. Chuck had been sitting on it, which earned him a growl that had more in common with a rattlesnake than any sound a person should be able to make. "This," he said grandly, as he began undoing the snaps holding the case closed, "is _Reba_." The lid came up; Sarah's jaw dropped. Casey scooped the monstrosity out with a reverence he reserved for the really insane firearms, like the M134 minigun. Chuck was at a loss to identify this particular weapon. The intersect wasn't even helping it was so heavily modified.

Casey snapped open the folding stock and fished a huge drum magazine out of a cut-out section of the packing foam, fitting it into place. "She's a custom variant of the H&K G36, for lightness and portability, not to mention the accuracy and stopping power. Hundred rounds in each of the drum mags, if you need more, I've got a spare in here," Casey's monologue continued and he pulled a second magazine, this one a more familiar boxy variety. "I had this part special-made. I never could see the point in putting a pump action shotgun under an assault weapon, so I cut down that old AA-12 of Bartowski's, and voila. 'Course, you've only got eight rounds per mag, 'cause I couldn't fit the AA-12 drum into place. Wouldn't seat properly. Anyway, you've got three extra mags for the underbarrel shotgun, which I've pre-loaded with proximity fused mini-grenade rounds if you need more anti-vehicle punch."

He slapped the second magazine in and cradled _Reba_ protectively for a moment before holding the weapon out for Sarah. She just stared at it incredulously. "It's bigger than _I _am."

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Walker. It's ten pounds four ounces, not counting the ammo. I was bigger than that as a newborn."

"Oh your poor mother," Cole said, shaking his head. Casey skewered him with a glare, and, considering what his hands were currently full of, it was even more ominous than usual.

"Fine," Casey said at last, leaning _Reba_ carefully against the side of the van. "Just in case you need her."

* * *

Chuck guided Cole and Casey through the mostly empty facility. A few of the scientists were staying late, but Beckman must have gotten word through on some alternate channels, because it was barely half past seven when Casey and Cole went over the wall into the compound, and they didn't meet a soul or come up against any security until they were through the second floor window and halfway down the hallway to the main security hub marked on the plans Chuck and Sarah were working from back in the van.

Casey waited until the first camera Chuck identified had turned away before rushing over and standing directly under it, in the camera's blind spot. Cole had to wait a full two minutes for the camera to hit the same point in its cycle so it was safe for him to join the Colonel in the blind spot. He was sweating from the nerves by the time Cole joined him. Four minutes standing in the open in hostile territory was getting to him. Technically not _hostile;_ they were all working for the same team after all, but still, two men in black tactical gear, complete with weaponry and assorted high tech gizmos, were probably going to have a real bad couple of hours until Beckman could sort through all the red tape and inter agency bull crap if they _did_ get caught. It was a relief when the camera finished it's next slow pan of the hallway, and Casey got to charge down to the tiny room that ran the entire building's security monitors.

He kicked the door open, tranq gun in hand, and stopped in consternation. The man was already out cold, a tiny dart with a red tuft at the end sticking out of his jugular vein. Casey keyed his radio. "Walker, abort! We're burnt!" he hissed. "Walker?" There was no response.

* * *

"Man, this is intense," Chuck said, watching the feeds from the tiny cameras mounted on Casey and Cole's tactical glasses. "Wow, Casey, you've got like ice water in your veins. Casey?"

Sarah shrugged. "Sorry, Chuck. I cut your microphone two minutes ago. You were just babbling, and it was probably distracting him."

Chuck frowned, but in their current position it would be difficult for Sarah to notice. Chuck had his arms around her, and Sarah, for her part, was snuggled in his lap. He had to watch the monitors over her shoulder. Strictly speaking it probably wasn't the most efficient way to run a clandestine Intelligence operation, but seating in the back of their white panel-van _was _limited, and Chuck was already sitting on Reba's crate, in direct contravention of Casey's orders. He wasn't about to make her sit on the grimy floor, when such an inviting seat was ready and waiting. Chuck briefly considered starting a tickle fight, but dismissed the idea as more unprofessional than he could get away with. Suddenly, the screens filled with snow.

"Son of a bitch," Sarah growled, flicking their microphones back online. "Casey, we just lost picture on your glasses cams. Casey, Cole, respond." Then, her phone rang, almost to the second. "Who? I thought I put my phone on silent."

"I think it's mine," Chuck said. "You never gave it back."

Sarah snatched Chuck's phone out and glanced at the screen. "Oh my god."

"What? What's wrong," Chuck said. Sarah lifted the phone so he could see it over her shoulder.

Daniel Shaw's face stared back at him, features set in a grim mask. It was the best picture Chuck had managed to get of the man. It was a text message; only two words.

_**Knock, knock.**_

Even as they stared at the screen, another text came through from Shaw.

_**Cozy in there?**_

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N: Moo hoo hah hah.

Reviews will make the wait until this cliffhanger is resolved shorter. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm ransoming the next chapter for reviews. That's just crazy talk. :D


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: The chapter title is the song that I heard while plotting out this chapter. I don't know if listening to it while reading is advised or not. Your mileage may vary, as the AC/DC isn't for everyone.

Fair warning on violence level this chapter; it gets pretty epic in here.

Thanks to _daywalkr82 _for the fresh pair of eyes.

* * *

Chapter 28: Thunderstruck

* * *

Sarah reacted first. She was already in Chuck's lap, so it wasn't exactly a tackle, but she took him to the grimy floor of the van expertly. Chuck grunted with the impact and the phone skidded out of his hand across the metal floor. For two full seconds, they stared at each other. When gunfire didn't erupt and slice the van apart, taking them along with it, Sarah frowned in confusion. "Huh."

"What's wrong?"

"They didn't shoot..." Sarah explained, pushing herself up. "Stay down," she admonished, peering carefully out the rear window. "He gets on the phone to taunt us, so it should have been followed up with gunfire, or a rocket launcher. That's how I'd do it."

Chuck took this revelation with a momentary grin, until he realized she wasn't playing her 'master of deadpan comedy' card, but was being entirely serious. He swallowed nervously and began to sit up. Sarah hissed and half-turned back, planting a knee on his chest gently to keep him flat on his back, still obviously on edge.

"Stay down," Sarah whispered fiercely, scanning the parking lot for Shaw and whatever help he'd decided to bring. "Son of a bitch..."

"Can I get up now?" Chuck said, shoving her leg aside. Sarah grumbled but didn't fight him as he levered himself up next to her at the window. "What's going on?"

"A half a dozen men in full tactical gear, maybe more, but..." she grabbed him and jerked him fully upright so he could sight down her pointing finger. "Look. Tasers instead of assault rifles."

"Why would they go nonlethal? Shaw wants you dead, doesn't he?"

Sarah pursed her lips, and her forehead creased in worry. "Well," she said, "He probably wants to torture me or..." Sarah trailed off, and her eyes winced closed for a moment in horrified realization. "He knows you're the Intersect. What better way to buy his way into the Ring than to hand you over to the Director?"

Chuck felt his stomach turn over and a wash of nausea flood him. "Sarah..."

Her jaw set and her eyes blazed at him. "You remember what I said that first night back at the BOQ in DC?"

Chuck frowned, thinking back. It had been before their fake breakup in Prague, and in the whirlwind rush of travel, it wasn't particularly clear. They didn't really have time for him to try and sort through the haze. "I don't... which part?"

She thrust an MP-5 submachinegun into his hands. "Them or you, Chuck. Don't you dare die on me."

"But I thought you said they wanted me alive?" Chuck said.

Sarah arched an eyebrow and scooped up _Reba _from where Casey had propped the heavily customized G36. "Don't argue semantics with a woman holding enough firepower to orbit Arnold Schwarzenegger," she said, before kissing him on the cheek, checking her safeties and chambering a round. "Let's see if this _Reba _knows how to sing. Get the door, Sweetie."

Despite the endearment, that was clearly an order, and Chuck lurched into motion slinging the MP-5 around his neck on its strap and grabbing the handle. He threw the sliding door open and Sarah snapped the folding stock into position, shouldering Casey's loaner and thumbing the selector switch to full-auto. Two men in black tactical gear, complete with facemask and heavy body armor froze in horror thirty yards from the van. The rest of their team, Sarah remembered, were circling around to flank them. She didn't have a good count, but six or more was the most likely. It was an absent thought and didn't really do more than flicker across her consciousness, as time had slowed down to a trickle, and her thoughts raced, filling out a tactical plan.

She watched Chuck throw the sliding door open, and from the angle of his shoulders, he had put all his weight into the movement. It could only have taken him a fraction of a second to get the door fully open, and she was squeezing the trigger almost on the instant Chuck was out of the line of fire. But it seemed to take minutes. _Reba _jumped in her hands, stock thumping back into her shoulder in time with the staccato crack of the projectiles breaking the speed of sound, but the recoil didn't throw her aim off as much as she anticipated. Usually, on full-auto, after the third round, you weren't really aiming anymore, but the weight of the custom under-barrel shotgun acted somewhat to counter the kickback, and she put twenty rounds downrange in a little over a second and a half, two long bursts that walked across both men twice at chest level. A shower of brass casings spun out of _Reba's _ejector port, making slightly out-of-tune pinging noises as they bounced around in the van's interior. At less than thirty yards, those vests probably weren't good enough to stop—

Both men's chests burst into flame, screaming and flailing their arms as they collapsed, and Chuck peeked out in horrified wonder. He glanced back at Sarah. She shrugged. "I guess Casey forgot to mention the incendiary rounds." Sarah looped her foot through the strap of the satchel carrying their spare ammunition, and flung the bag at Chuck. He caught it and slung it over his shoulder all in the same movement. She shot him a toothy grin, turned, kicked the rear doors of the van open, and leaped out, her gun spewing death and fire.

His ears were ringing from the gunfire in the enclosed space of the van, but he heard her quite clearly. "Make for the building; I'll cover you!"

* * *

Inside the CIA facility, Casey heard just the muffled thump of automatic weapons, but to his trained ear, _Reba _had a distinct cadence. "Guess somebody's starting the party early," Cole muttered. Casey frowned at him, poised to voice a similar opinion.

He grunted after a half a second, and unslung the silenced MP5 from his back. "Just in case we have gate-crashers of our own," he said.

Cole nodded sagely and unshipped his own submachinegun. "So much for covert. What do you think? Go help Walker and Bartowski, or make for the Cipher?"

Casey grunted. It wasn't exactly an easy choice. Walker was like the kid sister he'd never had, and Bartowski was... well, he was like athlete's foot: he grew on you if you weren't careful. "Somebody's already in the building; they could catch us in a crossfire if we go out to help. Cipher first."

Cole nodded curtly and shouldered his MP5 before he burst out into the corridor. Casey was only a second behind him, and Cole crouched low to give him a clear line of fire, just in case. The corridor was empty, of course, but that was no reason to get sloppy. He let Cole lead and spun to face the other way, walking backward in lockstep with the SIS agent. The corridor remained deserted until they came to the fire stair. "Casey," Barker said, "company."

John whirled around, falling into a firing stance, just as Cole dropped to a knee again to give him a proper field of fire, SIS' compulsory cross-training with the SAS making itself known. The stairwell door slammed open and a panicky Hispanic man in a gray security uniform froze, scrambling for his service weapon. "Federal agents," Casey said, raising a hand calmingly. The fact that there was no badge in that hand didn't seem to bother the man.

The guard breathed a sigh of relief, and his fumbling for his weapon became a much smoother draw. "What the hell is going on? Is that gunfire outside?"

"Yes," Casey said.

The facility security man swallowed nervously. "We've been breached?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it, mate," Cole said. The security guard tensed.

"What kind of Fed's got a Brit accent?" he demanded. Casey sighed and whipped the tranq pistol out of the holster on his left hip. He squeezed the trigger twice, and before the man could react, he slumped into unconsciousness.

"No time," Casey said sadly. An extra set of eyes would have been useful, but they couldn't afford to waste time. "Knew I should have left you in the van with Bartowski," he grumbled. "Don't they teach you accents at Limey spy school?"

Cole grinned, a witty comeback already forming on his tongue, but his eyes widened. "Down!" he shouted instead, lining up his MP5's diopter sights. Casey hit the floor the barest fraction of a second before Cole let loose two quick, three round bursts.

With the barrel-integral silencer and the subsonic rounds Cole had equipped, the only sound was the ratcheting back and forth of the MP5's firing mechanism, and the somewhat louder _thap _of bullet impacts. The first burst took the black-clad gunman in the chest, staggering him and throwing off his aim, but not penetrating the man's body armor. Bullets scored into the wall next to Cole, and the SIS agent crouched to decrease his profile, letting the recoil pull his weapon up. The ring of the front sight fell across the gunman's ski-mask-covered face, and Cole pulled the trigger again, extending his weapon as far as the sling would allow. The gunman dropped where he stood, his head burst like a melon.

Casey frowned over his shoulder from his prone position. "Just the one?"

Cole shrugged. "Probably not," he said, gamely extending a hand to help Casey to his feet. "We need to move."

Casey grunted his assent and used Cole's helping hand to haul himself back to his feet. He nodded down at the tranquilized security guard. "Grab his feet; we'll put him in the stairwell."

The two agents had no trouble lifting the unconscious security guard, who Casey saw from his nametag, was named Joaquin, but maneuvering him through the doorway was another matter. Casey winced when he accidentally caught the man's shoulder on the doorlatch, drawing a trickle of blood. "Crap," Casey growled. They didn't have time for first aid; as much as it pained him to leave a wounded man behind, they had no choice. It wasn't necessarily the scratch from the door that was wearing on Casey's sense of camaraderie, but the tranq dart.

"Oi!" Cole called from the next landing up, his expression tense. "No time!"

Casey grumbled another curse, but chased after the other agent without a backward glance. They'd done what they could, and they needed to get to the Cipher before the rest of the infiltration team. There was still just a small chance the Ring had only sent a one-man team into the building proper, but he could still hear the staccato thump of _Reba, _accompanied by what sounded like a pair of M-4's from the front of the facility, which meant the Ring, Shaw, or whoever, wasn't exactly in dire straights from a manpower perspective. He tried to raise Walker on the comlink, but just got static again.

"It's no use; they must be jamming all communications," Cole said, breathing a little raggedly. It wasn't from the exertion of the run up three flights of stairs, but rather the bleed of adrenaline. It was something for which you learned to compensate, but not something you could ever really train your body to stop doing. Gunfights were by their nature shocking, and traumatic, and that shock and trauma hit everyone differently. Casey hadn't really been in combat alongside the other man before, and he scanned Cole's posture for the telltale signs of a man coming unglued. Apart from the breathing, Cole was fine. His hands were at least steady, which was a relief.

"I'll take point," Casey said. Cole merely nodded, stepping aside to let the Colonel kick open the door to the fifth floor. There was another pair of black-clad gunmen twenty or thirty yards down the corridor, guns trained on the elevator. Casey thanked his lucky stars and went to a knee, cradling the MP5 like a newborn and lining up his shot on the leftmost gunman. A second later, both men were down, only the brief chatter of the action on their silenced weapons audible. They hadn't discussed it, but Cole had somehow known instinctively to go for the one on the right. Casey and Cole shared a brief nod, acknowledging the current division of labor, and set off down the corridor toward the lab where final work on the Cipher was being conducted.

* * *

"Damn it!" Sarah growled, huddling down behind another car for cover. She put her back to the wheel well and turned to hold out her hand. Chuck was, predictably, following close behind. "No!" Sarah shoved him back. "A car body won't stop a 5.56, so stay behind the wheel."

Chuck winced and shuffled backward in an awkward crouch. Gunfire crackled from maybe fifty yards away. The facility, like many government buildings, had no attached parking structure but rather about an acre of asphalt, usually filled with cars. Most of the staff had gone home early, it seemed, and cover was scarce. Now that they had time to glance around, Chuck only counted a dozen or so cars and SUVs in the parking lot. Their van was riddled with bullets, and the Lincoln Continental he and Sarah were huddled behind was already taking hits. The lack of reliable cover worked both ways, of course, and kept Shaw's men from flanking them as they'd originally sought to do. That and _Reba _kept things at a stalemate, but it couldn't hold forever_._

Chuck and Sarah knew their position was tenuous at best, and the longer they allowed things to remain static, the better the chances one of the Ring's men would get smart and figure out a way to flush them into the open and kill them outright. "You got any bright ideas, honey?" Chuck shouted over the gunfire.

Sarah paused in laying down fiery death, glancing at the car. She was on the driver's side. It was a long shot, but... "Yeah, I might! Cover me." She hefted _Reba _and smashed in the front driver's side window.

"What are you doing?" Chuck asked hoarsely.

Sarah waved absently, slinging Reba out of the way. "Cover fire, remember?" Chuck began firing blindly, still determined to get to the bottom of Sarah's plan. She yanked a combat knife from a scabbard on her tactical vest and reached around through the shattered window, glared at him and pointed at her eyes with two fingers, then in the direction of the Ring commandos still firing at them. After an interminable period of grumbling on Sarah's part, and two full magazines of 9mm rounds on Chuck's part, the Lincoln's engine sputtered to life, and Sarah crowed in triumph.

"Are we getting in the car?" Chuck asked. Sarah could make out a rotor overhead. With any luck it would be a police helicopter and reinforcements might arrive soon.

Sarah scoffed. "Of course not, those guys' M4s would cut us to ribbons. Stay behind the wheel well. I'm going to put it in drive, and we'll have moving cover."

It worked better than expected, with Sarah firing over the hood periodically to keep the Ring agents' heads down, but as the Lincoln inched toward the front doors of the CIA research facility, and relative safety, Shaw or whoever was in charge smartened up. The Ring gunmen shot out the tires, causing their moving cover to settle on its rims and become immobile. To make matters worse, the Ring's cover position hadn't changed, so now, the angle was different. Sarah realized it before anyone could do anything about it. "Chuck, c'mere!" She pointed vaguely, but he seemed to catch on quickly, and ducked around toward the front of the car with her.

The sound of the Helicopter roared anew as it came in and flared expertly over the CIA facility. More men in black tactical gear began rappelling down. "Sarah, do you see that?" Chuck pointed.

"Yes, I see it! Keep your head down!" Sarah shouted, turning to check on him briefly, though her training told her it was a mistake to take her eyes off her target. She was glad she did, though. "Behind you!"

One of Shaw's men had used the distraction of the helicopter's arrival to sprint around in a daring attempt to flank them. Chuck dropped face first to the concrete, faster than Sarah expected, and a spike of fear stabbed through Sarah's heart. Had he been hit? Her left hand squeezed the trigger on the automatic shotgun slung under Reba's main barrel, emptying the full eight 12-gauge mini-grenades into the gunman pointing his gun at Chuck's defenseless back. The man was wearing body armor, but it was light tactical, meant to stop handgun rounds, not full-size rifle bullets, let alone ¾ inch-high-explosive-packed deer-slugs. The unfortunate former person who had thought it a good idea to point a gun at Sarah Bartowski's husband came apart violently, each round taking a near basketball-sized chunk out of him.

"Chuck," Sarah said plaintively, "please don't be dead." He peeked through his fingers at her, and Sarah sighed in relief. "I need a shotgun mag," she went on. "Don't look behind you."

"Last one!" Chuck searched in his ammo satchel by feel and tossed it blindly. "We need to warn Casey about that team on the roof." Chuck said, turning to empty his MP5 in the general direction of the rest of Shaw's men. He had hit one gunman earlier, but their body armor was too tough for his subsonic 9mm rounds, so Chuck wasn't even really bothering to aim anymore, opting instead to give Sarah what covering fire he could. He saw but didn't really register the lumpy pile a dozen yards to his right as he took up a firing stance. It wasn't recognizably human anymore.

"Yes, you warn Casey!" Sarah nodded, slamming the fresh magazine into her under-barrel shotgun attachment and popping up to spray the Ring agents' cover position with more incendiary rounds from Reba's main drum. "Try your phone!" She shouted over the roar. "Shaw texted us! Maybe they don't have a cell jammer!"

Chuck winced, firing his MP5 blind over the back hood of the car. "It's back in the van!" he shouted back.

Sarah fired another long burst, and Reba's drum magazine ran dry. She ducked back under cover and fished her phone out. "Here, give me that spare drum mag and—" her eyes suddenly widened. "Grenade!"

Chuck's eyes darted around, down and to his right and— It was resting on the toe of his Chuck Taylor. It all happened in less than a second, and it wasn't the Intersect that saved them. Three years spent humoring Morgan and playing hacky-sack with him in high school combined with that one semester he'd been on the tennis team his Junior year and instinct took over. Chuck snapped his foot up six inches, and the grenade popped up, hanging in the air just right for the barest fraction of a second. He hit a perfect backhand with the butt of his MP5 to send the frag grenade in the direction of their attackers. Chuck and Sarah hunched back down into cover, and the explosion made their ears pop.

It was worse for Shaw's men, though shrapnel still pinged off the body of what remained of Chuck and Sarah's cover-vehicle. The gunmen had been using an SUV and a small pickup truck as their main cover, but the grenade had rolled right under the hood of the pickup. It was still recognizeably truck-shaped but only just. The gas tank ruptured, spilling gasoline onto the concrete at an alarming rate. It caught fire quickly, racing back into the gas tank, but there was no secondary explosion, Hollywood to the contrary. A thick black smoke poured from the hood of the stricken pickup, obscuring everything and mingling with the still hovering pall of silver-gray smoke from the frag grenade.

Chuck opened his eyes and the world kept turning. He remembered suddenly, and one hand darted into the satchel slung off his back, found the spare drum magazine Casey had prepared in what had, at the time, seemed _insano-paranoia_, even for him. Now, he was grateful. Chuck tossed the heavy magazine to Sarah, and she tossed him her iPhone.

He fumbled and nearly dropped it, but managed to trap it against his chest. "Come on, now's our chance! Head for the entrance!" Sarah said. The sound of sirens filtered through on some level, but they could be minutes away, or seconds away. There was no way to tell.

"The chopper is coming around!" Chuck protested, jabbing at Casey's contact picture.

"You worry about the phone; let me worry about the chopper," Sarah snapped, turning as she ran. Chuck held Sarah's iPhone awkwardly, jammed between his shoulder and ear, while he fished out an MP5 magazine to reload.

"It's ringing!" He shouted over the buzzing in his ears.

Sarah spun, scanning the darkening sky for the helicopter. She recognized it as an MH-60 Blackhawk, a military helicopter, and cursed under her breath. Apparently, it was too much to ask for the Ring to be using a civilian variant, just this once. The pilot flared once more, turning the Blackhawk broadside to them, and Sarah found herself staring down the barrels of the door-gunner's M134. The six-barreled minigun was still spinning up, and Sarah was already peering through Reba's reflex sight, which was the only thing that saved Chuck and Sarah's lives.

She put half a dozen rounds through the man on the door-gun before the minigun began spewing 7.62mm tracer rounds at 3000 per minute. In his death throes, his hands clamped tight on the controls, thumbs depressing the firing stud as he collapsed backward, pulling the gun out of line with Chuck and Sarah. The roar of the minigun didn't really sound like a normal automatic weapon, as the mechanistic sound of a bolt smashing back and forth was absent from the electric-motorized Gatling gun; it just sounded like someone tearing stupendous sheets of canvas apart broadcast over a loudspeaker. Tracers marched across the parking lot in erratic ziz-zags, drawing a brief line across the front of the CIA facility before the door gunner's body fell, his dead weight yanking his thumbs free of the firing studs.

Sarah shifted aim even as the door-gunner's fire missed her and Chuck by scant yards, raking the cockpit with Reba's armor-piercing incendiary rounds to shatter the glass. Just to be safe, she put half a magazine worth of her 12-gauge grenades in it as well. The canopy collapsed under the volume of fire, and something took fire inside, spewing smoke. The Blackhawk lurched down a foot or so and then veered around, gravity dragging it from the sky in a flat spin, straight toward Chuck and Sarah.

"Run!" she shouted, grabbing Chuck by the handle sewn into the back of his Kevlar and shoving him forward in front of her. Chuck fired one last burst toward the Ring troops, though through the smoke from the burning pickup, they couldn't see well enough to return fire. His MP5 came up empty and he glanced over his shoulder long enough to see that it was now time for him to worry about the helicopter as well. He dropped the MP5 and ran, though he somehow had the presence of mind to pocket Sarah's phone as he sprinted for the entrance to the facility, the doomed Blackhawk closing behind them in its drunken spin.

Sarah had let go of _Reba_'s main pistol-grip with her right hand to guide Chuck toward the door, and she left it there as they ran flat out toward the relative safety of the CIA facility's front door. "Sarah, what if it's locked?" Chuck gasped, breath burning in his lungs.

Of course it would be locked after all that gunfire, not to mention the explosions. Sarah grit her teeth. "Plug your ears!"

She poked the muzzle of _Reba_'s under-barrel shotgun over Chuck's shoulder and took two quick shots, aiming for the hinges on the left double door. She lost a step changing aim and had to slow down to aim with both hands, making sure she didn't hit Chuck when she took out the hinges on the second door with her final two 12-gauge grenades.

Bullets threw up dust at her heels, and Sarah spun, blazing away from _Reba_'s drum of incendiary-tipped 7.62mm rounds, backpedaling the whole time. After only a few seconds of sustained fire, most of it flying wild, Reba finally went quiet, and Sarah turned. Rage nearly choked her when she saw that Chuck had slowed as well to check to make sure she was behind him.

Sarah urged her legs into a final mad dash, charging at him with a fire in her eyes that made Chuck bolt for the door once more, almost more scared of her than the helicopter. The sound of the tumbling Blackhawk's rotor filled her ears and Sarah's long legs ate up the distance between her and Chuck. Despite his height advantage and the weight of Reba still clutched in her hands, Sarah gained slightly. Chuck slammed into the doors half a second before Sarah smashed into his back, and the double impact knocked the doors loose from the frame. Sarah staggered but managed to keep her feet. Chuck grabbed her around the shoulders for balance, and the heavy bullet-resistant polycarbonate of the fallen doors made a sound like a handsaw being waved in the air as it flexed under Sarah's boots and Chuck's sneakers. They stumbled to a stop in the middle of the lobby when they ran up against the security desk with a thump and turned to look back.

The Blackhawk's rotor caught on the concrete of the front steps, snapping the blades off when the carcass of the helicopter smashed into and crumpled the steel hand-rail. It bounced upward about a foot and tumbled like a log the last few dozen yards, crashing into the front of the building with a titanic clap and squeal of metal on stone, but the building held. A sheared-off piece of debris flew clear and embedded itself in the dark wood of the desk, roughly equidistant between where Chuck and Sarah had ended up. It stood out, quivering with an odd timbre. Sarah peered around the shrapnel to make sure Chuck was alright.

He gasped for breath; now that the danger had passed, it seemed like he hadn't had time to breath for hours. "Well," he panted. "all things being equal, it could have be worse, right?"

Sarah arched an eyebrow incredulously, and dropped Reba to the polished faux-marble floor. "Chuck," she groaned, reaching for her Smith & Wesson, in case 'things' weren't quite over yet. "What is wrong with you? You _never_ say that?"

A man peeked his head out from behind the security desk. "You know, she's right," the man said as he came around behind Sarah. "Because, then they always get _worse._" The security guard tossed his hat aside, and Chuck's eyes widened in horror. Shaw clocked Sarah in the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, and she pitched forward, dropping her S&W. A thin smile spread across his lips that didn't reach his eyes and he grabbed the back of Sarah's tactical vest to steady her. Shaw put the barrel to the back of her head. "Case in point," he said and pulled the hammer back.

* * *

Up on the fifth floor, Casey flashed a hand signal to Cole, and the SIS agent kicked in the final door, rushing in with his gun at the ready. The attack came from the side, a blur that knocked the MP5 out of his hands to slide all the way across the room and clatter against the wall. He blinked and his hand darted instinctively for his sidearm, but something blurred past his face, and he staggered sideways to his knees with the impact. Cole tried to blink the cobwebs out of his head. Had that been a _foot_?

Casey came in just a beat after Barker, and even then, he was too slow. The little man in the same black tactical gear as the others had disarmed and disabled Cole in maybe a second, and they were too close for him to risk firing. The little guy was fast, and Cole was a much bigger target, and he was between Casey and the little creep. Even down to one knee as he was, Barker was only marginally shorter than his assailant. "Give up the Cipher, little man," Casey bluffed, "or they'll be looking for new paint swatches in here."

The little man arched an eyebrow. "What are... paint swatches?" he asked, genuinely puzzled in a vaguely European accent that Casey couldn't place. Casey's hands tightened on his MP5, and he grit his teeth, sighting in anyway, thumbing the selector switch to single fire. At close range, the MP5 was pretty accurate, maybe if he didn't risk burst fire. At that exact moment, his phone rang. Casey blinked.

That was enough. In the time Casey's eyelids took to slam down, and then back up, the little Ring agent vaulted leapfrog-style over Cole Barker's kneeling form. When Casey finished blinking, a booted foot had slapped his MP5 out of his hands, and a second was already closing on his left eye, growing comically huge in his vision.

The flying kick staggered Casey two drunken steps but he managed to keep his feet, squared himself off with his smaller opponent, and grunted. He fell into a fighting stance. "That the best you got?"

The Ring agent grinned. "Excellent. You will be my _Everest_, giant American."

"Bring it, Short Round."

* * *

Sarah's pistol clattered to the ground, sliding across the floor. There was no time for conscious thought, Chuck hadn't even had time to fully regain his feet after the collision with the security desk, and he snatched Sarah's Smith & Wesson off the floor by the barrel with his left hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and flipped it end over end perfectly into his right hand. His left came back across and he stood smoothly into a two-handed Weaver stance, just as Shaw finished his taunt.

"Huh," Shaw said, unexpectedly staring down the barrel of a pistol. He yanked Sarah back to her feet. The blow to the head had stunned her, but she was still conscious, though groggy. Chuck barely managed to stop himself from pulling the trigger. Shaw had reacted so quickly that Chuck had almost wound up blasting a hole in Sarah instead.

His hand shook. "Drop the gun," he said.

Shaw ignored the demand. "This isn't about you, Chuck. Walk away."

"Not. Gonna. Happen."

Shaw grimaced. "Chuck, I didn't tell them about you, that you're the Intersect. You can just go. I won't try to stop you."

"Not. Gonna. Happen." Chuck said again. "I said drop the gun."

"You didn't flash, did you?" Shaw said, still using Sarah quite effectively as a human shield. For once, Chuck wished the love of his life had been born more of a pixie size. Shaw was well over six feet; how the hell was Sarah that good of a shield? "Can you make the shot without flashing? I'd kill her before you came out of the flash."

"And you'd die next," Chuck growled.

"You're not a killer," Shaw said. "You just don't have it in you, not like me and Walker, here."

"You don't know me," Chuck said, voice cold as the grave. "I will kill you if you hurt her."

Sarah blinked fuzzily, eyes swimming in and out of focus. She tensed, realizing the situation. "Don't move, Walker," Shaw said, shifting slightly so he could look Chuck in the eyes. "She killed my wife, Chuck. Wouldn't you be justified, killing your wife's murderer?"

Chuck finally brought his breathing under control. "Funny you should mention that, _Dan,_" he said acidly, only just containing a boiling rage. Shaw's eyes widened. He didn't so much as blink, but he obviously put that one together quickly enough.

"Bull," Shaw said after a moment.

"Show him the rings, Sarah."

"No, don't you move," Shaw grated. His hands shook. His palms were sweating, and he couldn't break free of Chuck's gaze. How had everything turned around? This was five years of his life in the making. This was supposed to be... _his_ moment, avenging lost love, setting right a world that had been shattered all those years ago, but he couldn't look away from those eyes. He'd looked at eyes exactly like them for five, long, cold years... in the mirror. "You kill me, so what? You think I care if I live or die? I _have_ to do this."

Chuck grit his teeth. Every fiber of his being just wanted to put a bullet in Shaw's eye, but he couldn't risk Sarah. Shaw was right. He _did_n't know if he could make that shot without flashing. Keep him talking. "I don't think you really believe that."

"Shut up!"

"Why? Too close to home?" Chuck said, gaining confidence as the pieces of a puzzle he didn't know he was working fell into place. "Why the text messages? Sarah thought it was a taunt, but it wasn't, was it, Dan? It was a warning. You wanted us to have a fighting chance."

"I said, shut _up_!"

"Maybe not even consciously," Chuck said, ignoring the outburst. "You've made yourself into this... _thing_... this killer. I've seen it first hand. No remorse, no emotion. You've had years to think about this, but it doesn't feel right, does it? It's not like you imagined it would be. Because you've already killed the man _Eve_ loved, haven't you? Do you think she'd want you to—"

"Shut up! You don't say her _name_! She..." Shaw's voice broke, and he shoved Sarah at Chuck. Sarah tried to catch herself, to throw herself out of the line of fire and give Chuck a clear shot, but she was still woozy and her feet seemed ten sizes too big. Chuck leaned aside, trying to aim around her; he had a shot, but he wouldn't risk her. She stumbled, taking Chuck down in a tangle of limbs.

The sound of Shaw's feet pounding as he ran faded. Chuck coughed air back into his lungs. "Are you okay?" He was proud that his voice didn't quaver... much.

Sarah gripped his shirt, pressing her face into his chest. Her whole body shuddered. "I'm fine..."

Chuck cupped her face with one hand, tipped her head up to look into her eyes. "Liar," he said gently.

In spite of everything, she laughed and punched him in the shoulder, and then wiped a tear from his cheek, the one on her own she left to him.

Chuck felt a pull deep in his chest, dragging him forward to kiss those lips. And then he blinked and pulled her phone out of his pocket, remembering that they weren't done here yet.

* * *

Damn but the little bastard was fast. Casey had grazed him with a jab early on, but after that, it seemed like Casey couldn't so much as scratch the other man. Not that the little man had done all that much damage to Casey either. Okay, so he was fast, and the kicks stung like hell, but Casey still had a hell of a lot of fight left in him, and Cole seemed to be coming around. Once Barker was back on his feet, they'd see how he did two against one. There was a resounding crash and the building shook. The Ring operative recovered first and swung a roundhouse at Casey's head that rocked the Colonel back on his heels before landing into a back somersault and snapping Cole's head back with a quick thrust kick. The British agent collapsed back to the floor. It was almost as if the little man was reading his mind.

Casey growled low in his throat and reached for his gunbelt. The little Ring agent was faster, which shouldn't have hurt Casey's pride as much as it did. The man held his pistol on Casey with an affronted expression.

Casey smirked. "Relax, tiny tim," he said, unsnapping the buckles and tossing his still-holstered sidearm aside. "Thing was slowing me down," Casey beckoned for the Ring agent to bring it.

The Ring agent barely topped five feet, but he tossed his pistol away with a glint in his eye that reminded Casey of... himself. As the fight resumed in the next few seconds, Casey realized something important. He couldn't win this fight, not the way he usually did. His angry center didn't give him super speed, or immunity to tiny, tiny, kicking feet, and he would probably need one of the two of those to win conventionally. He'd never really been an outside-the-box thinker, but dropping that gun had been the right call. It didn't actually speed him up any, but... yes. A lot of the time, he'd have a one-liner ready at hand, but if this was going to work, sparing the breath to taunt the man would be a dead giveaway.

Casey let himself fall into a mostly defensive rhythm, only attacking when he saw the largest of possible openings, but he knew he probably wasn't going to land those shots anyway, so he conserved his energy, gradually slowing down, just a little. He let his breathing grow ragged, and began to back away, just a touch.

After a minute or two of that, the diminutive Ring agent took the bait, winding up for a showy spinning twirling, horribly telegraphed, leaping crescent-kick. It was obviously designed to cave in his trachea and end the fight for good, as well as letting him see it coming and know he couldn't stop it. If his exhaustion hadn't been feigned, it would have done exactly that, but Casey had been biding his time, conserving his energy for just this moment.

He caught the man's foot in mid-kick, a bare six inches from his throat, and grinned. "Seen it," he said, latching onto the offending foot with his other hand, and swinging the Ring agent bodily into a glass-fronted storage cabinet. The safety glass didn't shatter as spectacularly as Casey would have preferred, and the Ring agent popped right back to his feet anyway. The fight was far from over.

With a growl, Casey threw a quick haymaker. The speedster managed to duck the blow, but he was slowing, obviously trying to shake off that first slam, hands held out defensively. Casey took a step sideways, anticipating the man's front hip-kick. This time, Casey grabbed him by the belt and the shoulder, lifting his opponent up over his head and preparing to smash the smaller man down headfirst on a nearby counter-top. He'd like to see the man get up from _that._

The little Ring agent managed to wriggle halfway out of Casey's grasp, spinning himself so that he landed feet first. His knees buckled with the impact, and Casey renewed his grip, another idea coming to him. Casey spun a complete circuit, his grasp hauling the Ring agent around with him, building up momentum before he released.

The man hit the window with a crack and fell down into a sitting position in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. The unbroken window. Casey grunted. Of course, it was made of shatter-proof-polycarbonate bullet-proof glass. CIA research facility, it only made sense. Still, the frame had bent noticeably, and one corner looked like it had popped free already. The Ring agent shook his head, fear in his eyes for the first time. He began scrambling toward his fallen semi-automatic pistol. Casey kicked it out of the smaller man's reach, wagging his finger. "Uh, uh, uh," he chided, grabbed the Ring agent by his tactical vest and launched him back at the window with all of his might.

The frame gave way and the Ring agent let out a scream of horror as he fell from the fifth story window. Casey grunted in satisfaction when the scream cut off suddenly.

Cole sat up, still a touch wobbly, rubbing the knot on his temple. "Where is that cheeky bastard?"

Casey arched an eyebrow and pointed at the window with his thumb. "He had a flight to catch." God, it felt good to get that one in there.

Cole nodded. "What is it, five stories? That enough to kill him? For sure I mean?"

Casey grunted, went over and peered out, just to be sure. "Yes," Casey said. "He's not getting up from that one. Now, help me find the Cipher; it's not in the case where the specs said it should be."

Cole paused in handing Casey his MP5 and pistol-belt. His eyes were drawn back to the window. Barker raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Maybe the slippery little bugger already palmed it before we came in?"

"Aw, crap," Casey said. His phone rang again, and he yanked the damn thing free of his tactical vest and glanced at the contact number. "What!" he demanded. After a moment, his demeanor shifted completely. "How many?" Casey grunted. "We're on our way down. Yeah, this little guy must have grabbed the Cipher," he said, then after a pause while he listened. "Ok, I maybe _accidentally_ threw him out a fifth floor window? Thanks tons, Bartowski," Casey hung up and stowed his phone once more.

* * *

Shaw put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Why had he let her go? His life, such as it was, had completely been turned inside out. He'd lived for years on his thirst for revenge, no room for anything else, not love, not friends, not any other emotion, not even grief. He was stuck in the in-between places now. There was no going back to the CIA, not after he'd nearly killed the Intersect and handler/wife. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around that. He'd been around them a couple of times, but it had seemed obvious that they could barely stand each other after that video he'd seen of Prague. How had he missed it?

Shaw thought about it. Beckman and Casey were obviously fooled as well, so he didn't feel too bad about his own intelligence failure on the Walker-Bartowski front. He frowned and glanced around the Men's-room stall he had appropriated. It wasn't exactly a hiding spot, though he'd had the foresight to sit on the tank, hunched over so a cursory glance wouldn't reveal him. There wasn't a mirror in the stall though, and he needed one. Shaw opened the door and walked over to the sink, put his Beretta down on the counter.

He looked into his face, into the eyes of the stranger in the mirror... and saw only emptiness. Once, they had been like Chuck's eyes, full of promise, and hope and... righteousness wasn't a word spies used often except deprecatingly, but it fit, and Shaw knew that he'd felt that way once himself, long ago. No more.

After a moment, he picked up the gun and looked down at it. Shaw slowly extended his hand at the man in the mirror and pulled the trigger. A quick, clean double tap. That Daniel Shaw in the mirror was gone. The mirror shattered, cracks spider-webbing out, and Shaw looked into the smoking barrel reflected and refracted countless times in the broken glass. All lost. He couldn't even go back to the Ring, could he? The mission wasn't a total loss, they'd tricked a group of mercenaries into footing the bill in arms, equipment, and manpower, and the only other real Ring agent was the Estonian to whom the Director had tasked the retrieval of the Cipher. Shaw hadn't lied to Chuck, exactly. He'd implied to the Ring that he could deliver the Intersect, but he hadn't said who it was in order to ensure his participation in this night's raid, so he could get to Walker. Still, the mission was supposed to have been two-fold.

There was a scream outside the window and an audible crack of something breaking. Shaw peered out the window curiously. It was the Estonian agent, body smashed on the concrete. The man was still breathing, but that couldn't last for much longer. Shaw vaulted out the window into the bushes, and padded over, kneeling down next to the soon-to-be-dead Ring agent. "The Cipher?" he asked.

The Estonian's hand lifted and wobbled over to a pocket on his tactical vest. "...help..."

Instead, Shaw dipped into the dying man's vest and retrieved the Cipher, before striding purposefully away into the night. This might still work out. His smile still didn't touch his eyes, but maybe it was a little closer.

* * *

Chuck and Sarah found the Ring agent's body a few minutes later. Chuck was starting to freak out enough without the sight of the man's broken body, so Sarah did the search of what was left of him for the Cipher. "Nothing, damn it," she said when she was finished, tugging off the pair of latex gloves. "We need to go. More police will be here—" as if her words were a summons, a pair of police cruisers pulled into the parking lot, a van emblazoned with SPD SWAT in big white letters among them. Sarah sighed. Their night was about to get longer. "Come on," she said, "Let's get this over with."

It took a few hours for the remaining Ring agents to give up, though it turned out, they were actually freelance mercenaries, and once they were convinced that it wasn't the CIA who hired them, but in fact the CIA whom they had _attacked_, they became model prisoners, all clamoring to see who could be quick enough to sell out their fellows that they might avoid spending the rest of their lives in Federal prison for treason. It took another few hours to get the police off Team Bartowski's collective backside about shooting up a city street, and crashing a helicopter, as if that had been _their _fault. Chuck pointed out, unhelpfully, that technically Sarah _had _fired the first shot, _and _killed the chopper pilot. She did her best to glare a hole in him. The Sacramento Police Department were none too pleased that the CIA and NSA had been conducting an operation in their city without notification, and the local captain started talking about raising a stink and crying foul to the State Attorney's office.

Casey eventually had to call Beckman, which, after several minutes of silence on the Police Captain's part during which Beckman said... something... to him, the captain passed the phone back, and politely offered to drop the team anywhere they'd like to go.

It was after sunrise by the time the team made their way back to their former-gas-station-safehouse, and of course, Beckman was waiting for their After Action Reports. "I see," she said, when they finished explaining themselves. "So, the Ring has the Cipher now, Shaw escaped, and there was never any sign of the Director."

"That's an unfair assessment—" Chuck began.

Beckman cleared her throat and arched an eyebrow. Chuck subsided. "I wasn't finished, Agent Bartowski. The fact that you and the rest of the team came through mostly unharmed against such overwhelming odds is a testament to your effectiveness. Hearing what you came up against, I'm surprised any of you came back alive at all, much less _all _of you. Though this is a dark day with the Ring in possession of the Cipher, it could have been much worse. I'm just sorry our intelligence on this was so lacking. I promise to do better in the future. I don't make it a habit of throwing my teams into a meat grinder. It _won't_ happen again."

Casey grunted appreciatively. "Satisfied, Bartowski?"

There was knocking on the metal safehouse door. Sarah and Cole pulled their pistols and took up station to either side of the door. Casey grabbed the remote for the plasma screen and shut off the picture.

Cole snatched the door open and Sarah dragged the man in by the hair, jamming her Smith & Wesson practically up his nose. "Aaaahh! Don't shoot! Don't _shoot!_ I'm just a courier!"

"What?" Sarah said.

"Guy paid me twice my normal fee to bring this here," the young man said, holding out a heavy card-stock envelope. "Cash money."

Sarah tossed the envelope to Casey. "Describe the guy," She said.

"Tall, dark hair," he said with a shrug. "Good looking, I guess, if you like creepy eyes."

"Shaw." Cole frowned and waved his gun. "Alright, bugger off, then," he watched through the peephole until the courier got on his bike and pedaled away. Casey turned the monitor back on when Cole gave him the all-clear. Beckman had been able to see and hear the altercation, though her side of the link had been muted.

"Ma'am?" Casey said, holding up the envelope.

"Go ahead."

Casey tore open the envelope and a clear plastic case holding a familiar circular chip tumbled out into his hand. He parted the two pieces of cardboard in search of a note, but there was nothing. Shaw had stolen the Cipher, just to return it? "What the hell is going on?"

**

* * *

Two weeks later:**

**Undisclosed location**

The Director had decided to wait. The information the SIS had discovered had obviously compromised _Badger International_, so getting all of the Elders in one place for the big day had become a logistical nightmare. Two had ended up snowed in at the Ring's private airfield outside of Moscow, but the council had eventually decided to proceed without full attendance.

The Intersect chamber wasn't exactly crowded; there were eight people total: the Director and the three Elders, Shaw, and the two other Intersect candidates, and a technician in case anything went wrong. It was a glorious day, even if they hadn't captured the human Intersect that Shaw had mentioned. It was an intelligence coup in the making, even without the name, and now that he had the Elders to hand, he could let them in on it. He didn't trust their communications at all anymore, not for something this sensitive. But first... "Okay, Shaw, fire up the console. Lady and Gentlemen, if you don't want to be an Intersect, I suggest you put on your goggles."

The Elders chuckled at their chosen Director's wit.

"Yes, sir," Shaw said eagerly, placing his palm on the biometric scanner. The room went dark, and images began to flicker across the white walls. After a moment, there was a burst of static, and the lights came back up. Projected against the wall on a black background were words in vivid green text.

_**THE CIA THANKS YOU...**_

"What!" The Director sputtered, whirling on Shaw, looking for an explanation. He vaguely remembered Fulcrum taunting the CIA at his behest, but... "No—" Shaw already had his gun out, and even as the Director turned on him, Shaw squeezed the trigger, putting a single bullet behind the ear of each of the other two Intersect candidates. His gun hand swept around, but oddly, his free hand was tucked into his pocket. The Director clawed his own pistol out just as Shaw turned on _him. _They shot simultaneously, the Director staggering back a step and squeezing off two more shots. The Director's bullets took Shaw low in the stomach and on the right side.

Shaw collapsed to the floor in a spreading puddle of redness, and the Director wheezed. "Why, damn you?" The Director asked, clutching his chest where the bullet had struck. Probably a cracked rib.

"How..." Shaw coughed, blood gurgling in his lungs before he found his voice again. "How stupid do you think I am? Walker... pulled the trigger, but _you_ framed Eve... you were always... my endgame..."

"Still," the Director said with an extra helping of snark. "A smarter man might have worn Kevlar." The Director parted his dress shirt to reveal his own bullet-proof vest.

Shaw chuckled and coughed blood. "Didn't need to live through this. Just had to... get you all in the same room."

The Director frowned. "Any last words?"

"Yeah," Shaw coughed thickly, blood flecking his lips. His hand finally came out of his pocket holding a black plastic detonator. "Dead man's switch," he explained, tossing the gadget aside with numbing fingers. "Got you last... you sons of bitches..." Shaw's laughter chased them to hell, as the two hundred fifty kilos of C4 he'd spent careful weeks planting around the Ring Intersect chamber blasted them all to ash.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: I know everybody wanted Sarah to skin Shaw alive, or something equally (or given my audience probably _more_)hurtful, but I've had that scene in mind for his exit from the story ever since forever ago. (Really just since, like April? Still it was a long time coming.)

So... next chapter is coming along nicely, and I should get it out before Christmas. Don't hold me to that, because I have to fly and then drive cross-country during in the next few days. Reviews are tasty, like Christmas cookies. Mmm... Christmas cookies...


	29. Chapter 29

Previously: Shaw killed himself, blowing up the Ring Director and better than half of the Elders. Chuck and Sarah were unable to come up with an effective cover story for Chuck's absence during the Sacramento mission, leading Morgan to believe they've gotten back together.  


* * *

Chapter 29:

* * *

What Chuck really wanted, right at that moment, was a cold shower. World peace, a cure for cancer—well, really _all _diseases, but he and Ellie both had a soft spot for brain cancer after Grams Bartowski's premature exit from the world—all that could wait. Just in that one single moment, he needed a cold shower. If he could figure out a way to get the shower-head to pump out ice-water— or maybe runoff from a glacier—that would be ideal.

He finally staggered to a stop, soaked to the bone with sweat, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, taking great heaving gasps of air. Devon jogged in place next to him, still cooling down from their four mile run. Devon had cut back his usual six as some small concession to Chuck's less awesome condition. "You alright bro? I know I kicked the pace up a little today, but you did say you wanted to get in shape. This is the only way I know how."

Chuck waved absently, he didn't quite have enough breath to answer right away, and the other reason he needed that _cold _shower was still jogging in place as well on his other side. Sarah had decided to come along with them on their morning jaunts, after that first week, and though she wasn't as covered with sweat as Chuck was, the slickness of her skin plastered her already tight running outfit to her in ways that _really_ weren't helpful to the process of oxygenation. And she was bouncing in place in a way that, despite the sportsbra she wore, further distracted him from breathing properly. Chuck squeezed his eyes closed against the sight, but the mental images were worse somehow, because in his mind's eye, there were far too many wind machines and slow motion cameras, and her jogging in place took on new and horrible dimensions. After several seconds, he remembered that Devon had just said something. "No, I'm..." he blinked several times, rapidly, in an effort to force the extremely _vivid_ hallucinations away. "I'm okay, Devon..."

"If you say so, bro," Devon said, concern evident in his tone. Chuck tried to at least moderate his heavy breathing. "Anyway, make sure he cools down properly, Sarah. No just going inside and lying down on the floor."

"Man!" Chuck whined.

"You heard the Captain," Sarah grinned.

"Alright," Devon said. "I can see I'm third wheeling it up right here right now, so I'll just..." He took an exaggeratedly large step to one side before making his way across the courtyard to the apartment he shared with Ellie, but then he paused. "I'm glad you two are back together."

Chuck froze, remembering the audio bugs and all the damn layers of secrets involved. "We're not," he said.

Sarah shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint you, Devon. It's a cover. Just friends."

Devon arched an eyebrow. "Again?" he whinged.

Chuck didn't have to feign the uncomfortable expression on his face. "It's a whole thing, Awesome. We didn't mean for it to happen, but there was an... incident..." Chuck didn't like bringing up spy missions with Devon, given how poorly he sometimes reacted. "A couple weeks ago, we needed an excuse for me to leave work, and..."

Devon sighed. "Of course. Morgan lets you skip work if he thinks you're getting some. That would make perfect sense. To Morgan. Damn it Chuck, I don't like this. Ellie's going to go in_sane_ if you two keep doing this. I forbid you guys to break up again, for at least six months."

Sarah crossed her arms and gave Devon a level look. "You _forbid _us?"

Devon swallowed nervously, but somehow kept his nerve. "Yes."

Chuck knew that conversation had veered into troubled waters, and stepped forward. "Devon, don't you go on call in like twenty minutes? You should go get cleaned up."

'Thank you,' Devon mouthed silently as Sarah turned her attention on Chuck. He tried to make a dignified exit, but his footsteps quickened and he glanced over his shoulder twice before he made it into the apartment he shared with Ellie.

Sarah rounded on Chuck completely, eyes blazing. "He _forbids_ us?"

"Why are you looking at me like that? It wasn't _my _idea to put us back in a cover relationship," Chuck said.

Sarah's glare shifted, and she sighed. After a moment she poked him in the ribs with a finger. "Stand up straight. You're going to give yourself a cramp if you don't cool down properly." There was a glint in her eye as she said this, that Chuck didn't find entirely innocent.

"What are—"

"Do like I do," Sarah insisted, taking a deep breath that did alarming things to her ribcage, lifting her hands slowly over her head. "Breathe... in..." Chuck bit off a whimper. "And... out..." Sarah grinned. "In and out. In..." she said smokily, "and... out..."

Chuck's eyes winced closed. "Oh, that is entirely unfair," Chuck groaned. "I need a cold shower."

Sarah's grin grew even more wicked, as she spotted Morgan through the window. The little bearded man was bleary-eyed and obviously hadn't fully woken up yet. Still. "That sounds like a great idea," she said. "I think I'll join you."

Chuck blinked. "What?"

She lowered her voice slightly and swept a bit of sweat-darkened hair out of her eyes. "I think it's time we... flesh out... our cover."

Chuck sighed and waved for her to follow. Puns, the lowest form of comedy. He expected better out of her. Morgan didn't notice them right away, until Sarah made a blatantly obvious attempt at stealth, tiptoeing comically through the living room, dragging Chuck along behind her by the hand.

Morgan blinked sleep out of his eyes and flashed Chuck a surreptitious thumbs up, which Sarah affected not to see. With the bathroom door closed behind them, Sarah whirled around and pressed herself up against him, arms looping around his neck. She tugged his ear playfully with her teeth before pulling back slightly to whisper. "This is part of the plan," she said, and took two measured steps back before darting over to the shower and turning on the water. Sarah dipped briefly into her fanny pack, yanking free a familiar looking headset. Chuck recognized it from a mission, way back before the team had really settled into a routine. There was a small camera affixed to one side. "So Casey doesn't get suspicious," she explained, activating the headset and tossing it at him.

Chuck caught the headset and fumbled it into place, still frowning in mild confusion. "Remember what I said about payback being a bitch?" Casey's voice said in his ear after a brief hash of static. "Here it comes."

Sarah stood next to the shower, and slammed her fist into the tiled wall, producing a hollow thump. "Uhn!" She grunted in time with her fist banging into the wall. Chuck's eyes widened in horror. She wasn't really going to.. "God, yes!" Sarah moaned loudly. "I missed you so bad, Chuck! Right there, uhn, yeah! Harder! Ugh, my god! Oh, yeah! Yeah, just like that!" This, coupled with the punching of the wall, went on for some time.

Chuck groaned, cheeks reddening. "Now that's just _mean._"

Casey's laughter over the commlink barely registered. His eyes gravitated slowly downward, Sarah's tightly-fitted outfit, and the moans, having an inevitable effect on him. "Hey," Casey's voice said. "Eyes on her _face_, Bartowski."

"_My_ eyes are closed, agent Casey," Chuck lied smoothly, and couldn't tear his eyes away. He almost involuntarily found himself thinking backward, to their brief trip to San Francisco at the end of June, thanks to the familiar sounds she was making. He had to admit, it was a convincing performance, even alarmingly so, but he had inside information that Morgan, who could definitely hear her over the shower, and Casey, listening in on the surveillance feed, didn't. It was gratifying to be able to tell a marked difference with her faking it. Chuck arched an eyebrow skeptically when Sarah's panting moans reached a thundering—but patently false to his ears—crescendo, and finally started to wind down, and he put a hand over the headset microphone to keep Casey out of the loop. "I thought you were supposed to be a _good_ actress."

She stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed his shirt, spun and shoved him, still fully clothed, into the shower, before shutting the door on him. "Ah!" Chuck said, thrusting the headset up over the frosted glass door. "These things are expensive!"

Sarah took the headset back, rolled her eyes and snatched the door open long enough to lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek, careful as she did, to put her thumb over the camera lens. "They're also waterproof," she explained, and left the shower door open as she sauntered out, hips swaying more than necessary. Chuck tore his eyes away from her backside, swallowed and banged his head gently against the tile. She was obviously trying to make his head explode. He twisted the shower knob all the way to the left, blasting himself with freezing water.

Sarah's attempt to slink out of the apartment without running into Morgan came to a screeching halt only seconds later in the hallway. "Oh, hi... I didn't... think you were up yet," Sarah lied. "I..."

"So, this is awkward," Morgan said with a shrug.

"Yeah," Sarah said, half a sigh. "Um... how much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," Morgan said. The awkward stretched out a little, and Morgan went on, trying to fill the silence. "So, uh... I never pegged you for a screamer." Which didn't particularly help matters... at all.

Sarah hid her face in her hands, only half-feigning embarrassment.

* * *

One cold shower later, dressed in his Nerd Herd uniform and resigned to a day fixing electronics, Chuck went out into the kitchen. Morgan was on the couch watching CNN, of all things. Chuck frowned. This was a new and troubling development. Was Morgan growing up? He poured himself a bowl of cereal and leaned out, watching along. "Hey, Chuck did you hear about this?" Morgan said. "Some kind of explosion downtown."

Chuck tensed, focusing more fully on the newscast. "Unknown at this time, Paul," the newscaster was saying, "As is the cause to the blast, but experts agree, the explosion was not likely accidental. Police are calling it a gas leak, but this does not seem to fit what our research is telling us, and we here at CNN cannot rule out the possibility of terrorist involvement. We will of course have continuing coverage throughout the day as more information becomes available."

Chuck frowned at the television, and the newscaster's face was replaced by the scene of the explosion. And Chuck flashed. Images whipped by and through his mind's eye. Documents, most of which were blacked-out, only dates and locations given. Even the Intersect didn't have _all _the answers it seemed. He saw a personnel photo of a middle aged man, slightly heavyset with a touch of gray at his temples. After a moment he shook his head, there wasn't enough information to say with any certainty, but... Chuck just knew... it was the Director. He tried to recall the flash. That personnel photo was in CIA records somewhere, though the related file seemed to have been expurged from the database.

The Intersect stubbornly refused to give him any more clues and he looked down at his bowl of cereal, appetite gone. He could really use any tidbits he could get. After they came back from Sacramento, a lot of things had changed. He and Sarah had resumed their dating cover, but Casey had more than doubled up on surveillance, with a round-the-clock _team. _Someone, usually Casey, was physically watching at all times, and Chuck was under strict orders not to so much as _think _the word Intersect.

The idea was that if Shaw _did_ give the Ring Chuck's location, the newly expanded operation would close the net on the Ring agents that were sent to pick him up. They had no less than four surveillance vehicles now, complete with two more predators, and a KH-12 satellite with real-time infrared capabilities tasked 24 hours to the Echo Park complex. Beckman was following through in grand fashion, with four six-man tactical teams on standby in vacant apartments at a building across the street from Casa Bartowski. When he went to work, the whole show went with him. When he went on his morning runs with Devon, sharpshooters maintained overwatch, with very lenient rules of engagement. At the first sign of a weapon, they were authorized to shoot. The tactical teams trailed them a block back as well. Beckman was taking _no _chances. But Chuck still didn't like playing the part of bait. The coolness of being covered by snipers had worn off well before the first cover date he'd been forced to go on with Sarah. The absurdity of pretending to be dating his wife was one of the few bright spots, although he couldn't laugh about it with Sarah when they were alone, because they were never alone anymore. His ability to loop the cameras wasn't impeded, from a technical standpoint, he still had the cameras hacked, but until those camera feeds were no longer monitored by living breathing CIA and NSA agents, it wasn't safe to do so.

Chuck washed his bowl of Cap'n Crunch down the garbage disposal, dejected. Maybe the Ring had accidentally blown themselves up, and things could go back to normal. He sighed... normal? What was that? Being around Sarah more often, and where Ellie could see, had made things so much worse. Sure, now he could sometimes kiss Sarah, but only when they were certain Ellie or Morgan were watching, and then, it was always a performance; just enough passion in it that they could convince his family and friends that he and Sarah were back together, not passionate enough that Casey or one of the other agents would comment on it. Given the number of cold showers he'd begun to take, it was a dangerous line to walk, and Sarah wasn't making anything easier with her performance a few minutes earlier, after their run.

He opened his mouth to offer Morgan a ride to work, they didn't always drive in together anymore, thanks to Morgan's company car, but he thought maybe—

The door burst in, Casey stood in the doorway. Morgan shot to his feet. "Dude, knock much?"

Casey glared at Morgan for a moment, taking in the fuzzy bunny slippers the shorter man was wearing with a glower. "Computer emergency. Chuck, grab your stuff. Morgan, you mind clocking us in when you get to the Buy More?"

Morgan shrugged and flicked off the newscast. "You got it," he said. "But what's got you so riled up?"

"My tax records disappeared!" Casey explained. "And I'm being audited! Move it, Chuck!"

Chuck gave Morgan a helpless shrug and let the older man drag him out by the scruff of his neck. Once they were out in the courtyard, Chuck shook out of Casey's grasp. "What's really goin' on?"

"I saw you watching the news," Casey growled. "You know as much as I do. Do I really need to go into detail? That was a Ring facility. It wasn't on any list of their assets we had, but we're getting all kinds of chatter corroborating the location. Did you flash on it? I thought I recognized that glazed look in your eye on the surveillance feed."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, but it was nothing we could use. Maybe an old personnel photo of the Director, but there wasn't a file, or even a name attached to it. I think he might have worked for CIA or somebody in the past, and purged himself from the database like my dad did, but beyond that, I got nada."

"Did the Intersect say that or...?"

Chuck shook his head sadly. "No, Casey. Just a hunch."

Casey sighed as he opened the driver's side door on the Crown Vic and scooped a walkie off the passenger seat. "This is Eagle-Eye Six to all points, subject on the move."

The walkie crackled with the rest of the team checking in as they prepared the covert convoy for the trip to the Buy More, and Chuck settled into his seat. "Is Sarah meeting us at Castle?"

Casey shook his head. "No Castle. We're going to the blast site to see if an up close look can jog anything loose up there," he said and rapped gently on Chuck's temple.

Chuck jerked his head away. "Cut it out," he said.

"Whatever," Casey said. "There's a tactical vest and a ball cap in the back. Put them on. We don't have time for a disguise, and I'm not sure if we've got the okay to cut the newsfeeds yet."

"You can do that?"

Casey grunted. "Well, it's a gray area. We certainly have the technology to jam TV signals. Cable is a little harder, that's what we're waiting on. Somebody is staging a fire alarm at the local cable company as we speak."

Chuck shook his head in wonder. This was all moving very quickly, and he could practically feel his head spinning. "This seems like a big deal then."

Casey grunted. "Understatement of the century, Bartowski. The Russians are in an uproar. Seems like the Ring had them penetrated worse than they had us. We got a report from some FSB colonel who was in the Ring's pocket that he wants asylum. Everything is upside down."

"Wait. Was? Past tense?" Chuck said.

"If I knew anything else, I'd tell you, Chuck," Casey said earnestly. "This explosion, whatever the cause, the shit is hitting the fan all over. Beckman's busy deflecting questions from half a dozen agencies, the State department. It's a clusterfuck of enormous proportions. My best guess? Whoever was running the Ring? They were in that building when it blew."

"So we win?" Chuck brightened slightly.

Casey shrugged, and spun the wheel, throwing them into a violent turn. He slapped a flashing light on the roof. "Not quite. Some parts of the Ring are still getting orders. Maybe the blast didn't get all the leadership. Looks like whoever is left is trying to do damage control, and we need to move now before they can reorganize. But first we need confirmation as to what really happened."

The Colonel grunted sourly, which Chuck took as confirmation. The Crown Victoria blasted through a red light, and Casey swerved to miss a car in the intersection. As they passed the midway point of the block, a pair of black Humvees came out of nowhere and took up station in front and behind. Chuck gulped. "I hope those are the good guys," Chuck said. Casey's walkie crackled.

"Eagle-Eye Six, this is Iron Lung Six. Taking up station fore and aft."

Chuck arched an eyebrow at Casey. "Yes. Those are the good guys. Force Recon seconded us a short company, just in case. Good to have Marines watching my back again."

"A _company?_" Chuck said, sounding slightly strangled, and peered out the window when he heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter rotor. There was an Apache keeping pace with them.

Casey grinned. "I'm a two grades away from being a damn General, Bartowski. Commanding a company is _Captain_'s work." He slowed the car as they came to a road block, and flashed his ID to the men in full tactical gear. Wordlessly, they were passed through. Chuck could see the ruins of the building that had gone up in the distance, and they weaved their way through emergency vehicles. "And if we're not careful, this situation with the Ring could turn into one of those wars that didn't officially happen. Like Greece in 2002."

Chuck frowned. "What happened in Greece in 2002?"

Casey showed his teeth. "Nothing, that's what. I lost some good men in that... thing that didn't happen."

"Huh," Chuck said, and Casey parked the Crown Victoria. "I thought you said the Ring was finished?"

Casey shook his head and stepped out of the car. "Never said that. I said it looks like most of their leadership is gone. That makes things more dangerous, not less. They had tendrils into half a dozen governments. Anybody who's left on the inner circle, or council or cabal or whatever they call it is going to be beyond desperate. Anybody they have on the inside is either going to be looking to turn state's evidence, or they're going to be trying to climb the ladder, maybe take out the boys and girls at the top of the heap. We could be looking at potential strikes coming from anywhere, even some of our allies. The Ring is made up of the worst kind of psychos the intelligence community ever spat out, on both sides of the Cold War, Bartowski, and it looks like the people keeping them in line just went up in smoke." The colonel tossed chuck a white face mask. "For the concrete dust," he explained.

Chuck blinked and stared at the devastation. He'd caught a glimpse of it on the news, but the TV cameras were back at the outer cordon, at least a block away. The scene was swarming with FBI, ATF, LAPD, anyone you could care to name. There were people in windbreakers with letters on their backs in bizarre combinations Chuck had never seen before. Who or what, for example was NEST? NTSB? There were others as well. It looked like someone had kicked an ant-hill. He stood, staring for a moment, before Casey grabbed his sleeve and shoved the mask into his face.

"C'mon."

It was unlike anything Chuck had ever experienced firsthand. He'd seen footage of the Embassy bombings, and other terrorist attacks, but it was something else again, walking through the carnage. "Do they know how many dead?"

Casey shrugged. "Impossible to say. Records for the building were obviously falsified, but the Fire Marshal says max occupancy on the plans was 750. I doubt the building was full, but you never know."

"The Ring had that many people in LA?" Chuck asked, horrified.

"Again, if I knew, I'd tell you, Bartowski," Casey said. "They've found some remains, but it looks like the blast was in the basement or the ground floor, and most of the bodies are from the upper floors. Anybody further down is under twenty feet of rubble. The rescue crews haven't found many survivors."

They passed a line of body bags and Chuck swallowed against sudden nausea. "My god," Chuck said, witnessing the destruction in all its terrible scope. "Who could have done this?"

"That's what you're for," Casey said. "Look around, take it all in."

Chuck winced. That didn't sound like a good time, and he said so.

Casey awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, they probably all died instantly."

"It doesn't, actually."

They spent most of the day at the blast sight, combing the wreckage. Sarah showed up after about an hour, wearing an emotionless mask where her face usually was, and Chuck knew that despite her cold exterior, the devastation was getting to her too. Traitors they might have been, but they had still been human, and no one could witness such destruction without a pang of sympathy. The bomb investigators explained what happened around noon. The initial blast had been from about four hundred pounds of C4, but it had touched off the natural gas main under the street and, judging from the residues, about two tanker trucks worth of diesel fuel.

"Why would they need that much fuel?" Sarah wondered.

Casey shrugged. "Paranoid? That or maybe they were expecting an extended power outtage? Maybe that was a plan of theirs that got scrapped, or they were just planning ahead. LA had rolling blackouts half the summer. It doesn't strike me as enormously excessive," he said, absently. Down in the blast zone, someone had found something, and was waving for them.

Casey led the way down. Debris shifted under Chuck's feet and he nearly slipped, until Sarah grabbed his arm to steady him. "What is it?" The Colonel asked.

A young man in an Bomb Squad hat and windbreaker held a bit of metal up so the team could see. A dogtag. Casey took it from the bomb tech and inspected it more carefully. He grunted and tossed it to Chuck. Half of the rounded rectangle was gone, obliterating the dead man's first name, but the last name, Shaw, was still just legible. He held the dogtag out to Sarah, and she glanced at it.

"So, this was a Ring base then," she said softly. "That's confirmation."

Casey nodded. "But this was no accident. They didn't do this to themselves. So what happened?"

"Sir?" The same bomb tech raised his voice to get their attention. "I think I got something else, but I've never seen anything like it."

Casey grabbed Chuck and hauled him over to inspect the new discovery. It was an oblong circular object of a greenish metal alloy Chuck had never seen before. "Any ideas?" Casey grumbled.

Chuck shook his head. "No," he said, "I've never..." he shivered and his knees would have buckled as the flash took him, but Casey and Sarah both had a grip on one of his arms. He blinked and shook his head, to clear the muddle-headed feeling away. "It's a container. Prototype bomb-proof document storage. Some kind of next generation ceramics?" Chuck realized the bomb technician was in earshot and swallowed a remark about his last Intersect update being two months earlier. "I... I didn't think they'd got a working prototype built yet."

The bomb technician looked at Chuck like he had gone insane, and Casey grunted, snatching the case away from the young agent. "You never heard any of that, got me?" He pointed with his thumb. "Beat feet, kid."

"Do you know how to open it?" Sarah asked, once they were relatively safe from prying ears, and Chuck nodded.

"Good," Casey said. "But not here."

It turned out, it was a good thing they waited. Back at Castle, when they opened the container, they found a hand-written sheet of paper, with just a few lines.

_**Their Intersect is toast. I think most of the Elders were in the building too,**_

_**but one or two were having plane trouble and might not have made it.**_

_**Sorry if I didn't get them all.**_

_**Shaw.**_

Team Bartowski stared at the page in shock for several minutes, utterly speechless. Of all the people who might have blown up the Ring, and the list had had some pretty outlandish names on it, Shaw's hadn't been anywhere to be found.

It was a few more days before all the fallout from the bombing came down, and the furor in the Intelligence community died down. Committees were formed in both houses of Congress, and similar activities conducted in the Russian and British Parliaments, for all had been just as penetrated. Casey's fears of widespread craziness on the part of the Ring while they attempted to restructure proved unfounded. Beckman was convinced that the remaining Elders—Team Bartowski had begun using Shaw's term for the Ring's upper echelon, despite only having his word for it—Beckman believed they had all gone into hiding, bloodied, but not destroyed, biding their time. Though most of the government thought the thing finished, Beckman knew better, and she had the ear of the President, retaining command of operation Bartowksi. She had a sinking suspicion that some as yet unknown player had arrived on-scene and some backstage power-play had gone on.

* * *

They had a few days' worth of down time, maybe a week, before Beckman pulled back on the security details, convinced that the threat of a security breach was over. The teams that had done overwatch on Chuck's apartment had never been told his status, other than that he was a high level CIA operative, and so, thanks to Shaw, things went back to the status quo. Except for one thing.

Chuck and Sarah were still cover-dating, and Morgan expected fireworks on Chuck's birthday. The day after, he wouldn't let up about it in the cage at the Buymore.

"I didn't hear you come in last night," Morgan said, fist extended for a bump. "Nice work gettin' that birthday sex."

Chuck sighed. This was a slippery slope, even with the Ring in retreat, or hibernation or whatever term Beckman was using, he didn't want to lie to Morgan, and he certainly didn't want to tell the whole truth. Morgan frowned. "Dude, what's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Chuck said, trying to concentrate on the laptop he was disassembling.

Morgan just couldn't take a hint. "Oh, man... I know that shrug. Dude, what happened? After I overheard you guys in the shower I thought—"

"Gah, Morgan! Boundaries! We talked about this," Chuck said.

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Tell that to Sarah, they could probably hear her two counties over."

Chuck scowled, and Morgan crossed his arms. After a drawn out awkward moment, Chuck sighed in exasperation. "Nothing happened," Chuck said. "We spent the night in the emergency room after I fell and hit my head on the nightstand. Sarah was convinced I had a concussion, and we had to wait like six hours to see a doctor because there was a ten-car pile-up on the 101."

"Oh, dude," Morgan said in commiseration. "That's awful. Happy birthday to nobody!"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, tell me about it," he grumbled. "Now can I get back to work?"

"Alright, buddy," Morgan said. "No lie, though, that is the suck."

Chuck started to wave his friend out, when his phone went off. He dug his iPhone out of his pocket and glanced absently at the display. It was Casey, probably a mission, their first in a couple weeks. He'd actually been missing the excitement a little. But then he saw the body of the text. Just one word. It took him a moment to remember the significance of the missive. It wasn't really from Casey.

The screen read:

_**Pineapple.**_

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Merry Christmas to all and to all lots of cookies. Reviews aren't quite as tasty as those cookies like grandma used to make, but they're close.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Thanks to my beta _daywalkr82 _for fixing a bunch of stuff in this chapter, even though I didn't take his advice on one of Casey's one-liners. I like the wii bowling line, sue me.

In other news, I had some trouble getting this chapter to upload due to snow, believe it or not. When freezing water falls from the sky in Texas, apparently it's out of the question for the internet to function. Who knew, right? Next update probably won't be before Chuck's back on the air, so this will have to last you until then.

* * *

Chapter 30:

* * *

Knocking at Sarah's door woke her out of a particularly naughty dream about the way last night's birthday celebration was supposed to have gone. She glanced bleary-eyed at her alarm clock. She had worked out her schedule with Casey so that she could sleep in today, as she expected to be out until about mid-afternoon due to a sudden-onset sex-coma. That eventuality hadn't come about, sadly enough, but Sarah had still stayed up into the early morning hours after Chuck went home from the ER, drinking herself into a stupor and resisting the urge to break into Casey's apartment, cuff him to a radiator and go across the courtyard to have her way with Chuck until her nerd couldn't stand for a week. Sarah at least knew that she was a horny drunk, and so she had been able to recognize the half-baked plan as the result of too much alcohol, but it had been a close-run thing.

It was nearly one o'clock, and she groaned aloud, putting a hand to her head against a pounding headache. She considered rolling over and ignoring the intrusive sound, but the polite knock turned into a frenzy of impact. Whoever it was, they were unlikely to just go away, not to mention the fact that the current level of desperation in the banging from the door meant they might try to break the door down. Sarah rubbed the sleep from her eyes and retrieved her S&W from the nightstand, ejected the clip and checked to make sure it was full. With a satisfied grunt, Sarah re-loaded her weapon and thumbed the safety off, before padding over to the door.

She went through her standard procedure, glancing at the peep-hole from the side to make sure the person on the other side wasn't ready to put a bullet through the door, and her as well, before peering through herself. It was Casey. Sarah frowned and unhooked the chain and double-deadbolt. "What is it?" Sarah said, voice still full of sleep.

"General wants to talk to you in Castle," Casey said.

"She couldn't call me on the telephone?" Sarah grumped.

"She said face-to-face. Come on, Walker. I'll drive."

Sarah shook her head. "Nuh-uh," she said. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and I'll be right behind you."

Casey sighed at the determined set of her jaw and shrugged. "Whatever. Beckman wants you there in twenty minutes, so hurry it up." Sarah closed the door in his face, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, swept her hair up into a messy pony-tail, and grabbed her iPhone, then after a moment's thought, peeled the up carpet away from the small cubby-hole under the edge of her bed and slipped her burn phone into the back pocket of her jeans, just in case.

Casey had waited outside in the Crown Vic, then followed her to Castle. It sent a weird shiver down her spine. Something decidedly odd was going on.

When they arrived at Castle, Casey had her sit at the conference table and refused to speak to her until the General appeared on the plasma screen for their teleconference.

"General, what's going on?" Sarah asked before Beckman could say much of anything. "Today was supposed to be my day off. Did something come up? A new mission?"

Beckman's frown deepened. "No, Agent Walker. No new mission." She leaned forward. "Perhaps you would like to explain this to me? Colonel, roll the footage." Sarah arched an eyebrow and frowned. What footage? The FBI couldn't have any backups of the thermal video from San Francisco, could they? No, it would have surfaced long before now. Casey moved to the controls, and a video replaced Beckman's face on the viewscreen.

"A hallway?" Sarah said. "You don't really need me to explain a hallway, do you General?" She felt a smirk starting, but—the hallway looked a little familiar. What was... oh my god, was that Chuck?

"If you'd just keep watching, Agent Walker? I think you'll see the part I was referring too any moment." Beckman said. Sarah's eyes darted to the date-stamp. Yesterday. Chuck's birthday. Damn it. She knew exactly what was going to show up on that video next. Chuck's image came to a stop just below the camera; he knocked on a door; her door. Rage flared up, both at Beckman and just a little, at herself. She should have been sweeping the outside of her apartment as well. Legally, they couldn't put bugs in her residence, but the public spaces of her building were fair game, and given the resumption of her cover as Chuck's girlfriend, she should have expected something like this. With all the extra surveillance that had been put into place when they thought the Ring might come calling at any time, it was a logical precaution to have tabs kept on all team members.

And, here it was: on the screen, the door opened—she could make out the brightening at the bottom of the screen— and Sarah jumped out of the bottom of the screen and wrapped herself around Chuck, legs clamped around his waist, arms around his neck, assaulting his jawline with kisses. She winced as, on the video, Chuck staggered back a couple of steps across the hall, turned and pressed her into the wall. His head dipped as he kissed down to her neck, and she could just make out the part where he had grabbed her butt, just— God, despite it all, this was hot. Sarah swallowed and turned to Casey. "That's enough. I think I remember what happens next."

"Wait for it Walker, this next part gets me every time." Casey said, chuckling.

Under the table, Sarah pulled out her iPhone, pulled up an app she'd never had to use before. "Casey," she said warningly.

"Fair enough," he grunted and clicked a few keys so the image stopped just after Chuck turned to carry her back into her hotel room. Sarah sighed in relief. She wouldn't have to watch him stumble and land on top of her in the middle of the hallway, clocking his head on the doorframe, just as the elderly couple from down the hall came out of their room. It had been embarrassing enough the first time, without Casey's color commentary.

"You had me under surveillance," Sarah grumbled. "May I ask why?"

"It was my idea," Beckman said as her face filled the screen once more. "After the scare with Shaw it seemed only prudent, but we only got the cameras up a few days ago. I didn't expect..._that_. You obviously weren't attempting to reinforce your cover on this night. You didn't know you were being recorded, so obviously the two of you were..." Beckman sighed and left it unsaid. "The time-stamp says about thirty minutes before you emerged. The only real question to my mind is this: was your indiscretion a one-time occurrence? It is well documented how adrenaline can lead to...physical reactions on the part of agents. If that's all this was then we might be able to forego a reassignment."

Sarah fought back blushes. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and as suggestive as the video was, nothing had happened that night anyway. After he'd hit his head, she had been too afraid that Chuck had a concussion to risk him lapsing into unconsciousness if they consummated things. Their 'cover date' had actually been spent at the local ER, though she had made Chuck program his watch to send its signal over to the restaurant and theater where they were 'supposed' to be. A useless precaution, it had turned out. No reason to tell Beckman any of that though. "That was the first time," she said instead, "but it _won't_ be the last. It wasn't a one night stand if that's what you're implying."

"Your... relationship with Agent Bartowski has put the entire operation in jeopardy on more than one occasion. Your breakup was the best thing that could have happened," Beckman sighed. "Though usually in a situation like this the CIA would likely turn a blind eye to your fraternization, with Bartowski's special status via the Intersect, steps must be taken. Given the importance of our mission here, and the difficulty we would have finding a suitable replacement, we will give you a choice, either end your relationship and agree to cameras in your residence to ensure compliance, or be reassigned."

"I'm not breaking up with Chuck," Sarah said, then remembered the need to keep the General from thinking too hard about the Prague tape and a possibility they'd been together all this time, and went on. "Not now that we're finally on the same page. Not for you, or anybody. And I'm certainly not letting you stick cameras in my room," Sarah said. It was _really _tempting to tell them about the wedding back in July, but she thought better of it. Instead, she clicked an option on her phone, out of sight under the conference table, sending Chuck his signal to run.

"I'm sorry you feel that way Agent Walker. Your service on this mission has been exemplary, and I would hate for the circumstances of your departure to put a black mark on an otherwise spotless service record."

"I've made my decision, General," she declared to the phosphor screen of the television.

"In that case, return to Langley at your earliest convenience. You are relieved of duty effective immediately. Myers, the new DDO will have your next assignment." Beckman shook her head in disappointment, and the screen blanked out.

She and Casey sat in silence for a long drawn-out minute.

"You're really just going to up and leave, Walker?" Casey finally asked. "I thought we made a pretty good team. Even Bartowski has been holding his own lately. I can try to talk to Beckman, if you'll reconsider. I might even consider looking the other way if you want to keep playing Wii bowling with Bartowski's wand, as long as you can stay under Beckman's radar."

"Sorry Casey," Sarah said, pocketing her phone and getting to her feet. "I'm through hiding how I feel from _any_one. Look. I'm going over to Chuck's to say goodbye. I have to tell him it's not for good. I... could you... turn off the feed to his room for a few hours?"

Casey grunted in disgust. "Yech, seriously Walker? Gross." He turned and typed in a few commands. "Alright, surveillance is down to his whole apartment in case you can't contain your... enthusiasm long enough to get him into his room. You want to give me a brief time-frame as to when it'll be safe to look at the feeds again? I'd prefer to avoid catching a glimpse of the goodbye sex-marathon if I can swing it."

Sarah glanced at her watch. It was just after half past one, and she bit her lip. "Hmm... probably wait until... ten or eleven, just to be safe."

Casey blinked, genuinely shocked. "Walker, that's... that's more than _nine _hours. He's going to _need_ a walker when you're through with him."

Sarah just shrugged nonchalantly. "I have a lot of pent up..." she raised an eyebrow in mild challenge. "'Lady feelings' as you'd put it."

Casey shuddered. "I'll be over to collect him at midnight; try to finish up and be dressed by then. I'd hate to have to gouge out my own eyes. You wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good field agent would you?"

"Collect him?"

Casey sighed; it was just like her not to acknowledge his quips. You could always count on Bartowski for at least that much. "We're relocating him. Can't have you showing up at all hours for a booty call, especially when he should have been out of Burbank months ago."

"You're putting him in a bunker?"

"I don't know where he'll end up, but no. He's a field agent now, so the bunker's a last resort, if and only if his cover's completely blown."

"Well, I'd better get over there then. Ten hours isn't a lot of time for what I have planned."

"Ugh," Casey grimaced theatrically and hunched his shoulders, shivering in disgust once more. "Don't _tell _me things like that."

Once in the parking lot, Sarah pulled her iPhone and made a brief call to Chuck's monitored line. The call went straight to voicemail, which was reassuring. He'd already ditched his iPhone, then, as the plan had dictated. She slipped her phone back into her purse and strode out to her Porsche. Chuck had probably been at work already when her text from Casey's cloned phone went through, and she idly considered abandoning her half of the plan and joining up with Chuck immediately. The tracker in his shoulder would make it a simple procedure, and a rather large part of her just wanted to get him alone somewhere and—

She shook her head as the engine roared to life. No, it was _her _plan in the first place, and this next part was important as well. It was vital, in fact. Sarah sighed and weaved through LA traffic on her way to Echo Park. She made good time, and it was just before two o'clock when she arrived.

Sarah pulled out a note pad and envelope from her glovebox, chewed her lip and began to write. Satisfied, she sealed the envelope and walked purposefully to Ellie's door.

"Hang on! I'm coming!" Chuck's sister's voice cut through the door, and a moment later the portal swung open. Ellie grinned. "Oh hey, Sarah, what's up?"

"Ellie! Is Chuck here?" Sarah said, putting a hint of desperation in her voice.

"No, why?" Ellie said, concern furrowing her brow. "Is everything okay?"

"He's not answering his phone, and I banged on the door to his place for five minutes, but there's no answer," Sarah regretted this last lie to Chuck's sister, but hopefully it _would _be the last, and that made a difference. "I have to go out of town for a while on really short notice. My dad's in the hospital, and I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Can you give him this?"

"Sure, Sarah," Ellie said, taking the envelope. "Is your dad going to be alright?"

"I'm sure its nothing, the way he always overreacts," Sarah said, vamping for time. "But the doctors won't really say anything over the phone."

"That's usually not a good sign, Sarah," Ellie said and put a hand on Sarah's shoulder consolingly. "Maybe I can talk to them?"

"No, Ellie it's alright. I really have to go," Sarah said. She hesitated for a moment, and then hauled Ellie into a bear-hug. Doctor Eleanor Bartowski-Woodcombe's eyes widened and she struggled for air. It was the first time she had been on the receiving end of a trademarked 'Ellie Bartowski strangle-hug.'

"Are you sure everything is okay, Sarah?" Ellie said when she could breathe again.

Sarah nodded. "I've got to go, Ellie. Goodbye."

"Okay Sarah," Ellie said. "I'll see you when you get back."

Sarah didn't have it in her to lie and say it back.

Ellie shook her head at Sarah's odd behavior. She was infinitely relieved that the blond and her brother had gotten back together, but she had a sneaking suspicion that something weird was going on. She frowned and plopped herself down on the couch. Something crinkled in her back pocket when she sat, and Ellie's eyes widened.

She stood and pulled out a tiny strip of paper, much like she might find in a fortune cookie. She didn't remember the last time she'd _had_ Chinese. It must have been months since the last time Morgan had pressed for 'an Evening with Morgan' and unhealthy amounts of Sizzling Shrimp. Ellie unfurled the paper, and frowned in confusion.

_**Open the letter I gave you. In the bathroom.**_

She recognized Sarah's hand writing, and the vague sense she'd been having for weeks that something was odd in Burbank jumped up into her conscious thoughts. The cryptic note took her thoughts back to the increased helicopter traffic in the area recently, and a chill went down her spine. With trepidation weighing down her feet, Ellie grabbed the letter from where she'd set it down and marched into the bathroom. She tore into the envelope and sat down on the toilet to read.

_**Ellie, **_

_** First things first: once you finish reading this letter, burn it, and the note I slipped you as well. It's probably for the best if you burn it in the bathroom.**_

_** There's no easy way to say this. More than likely, this letter will be the last time you ever hear from me **_or_** Chuck, barring some kind of miraculous development of a heart by the intelligence community at large, but here goes nothing. Chuck and I are CIA. **_

Ellie blinked in shock and almost dropped the letter. She read that fateful line a second time, and then went back and reread everything to that point. This had to be some kind of joke, some sick twisted... oh God, all the lying and sneaking around, it all fit, but why Chuck? The CIA! Ellie shivered and the letter shook in her fist as she read on.

_**And no, I'm not kidding. **_

_**I helped recruit Chuck over three years ago. Our relationship was, at first, for cover. You can imagine how long that lasted. I never could resist the Bartowski eyebrow dance. Because our superiors at CIA forbid us from starting a real relationship, we kept our true feelings and relationship hidden from the government as long as we could, under the threat of me being reassigned. We even went so far as to stage a break-up. Sorry you got caught up in that particular lie, but it was necessary. It's pretty much irrelevant now, because yesterday they caught us on tape in something of a compromising position (I'll spare you the details, Chuck being your brother and all) and they're following through on their threats. We've been planning in case this happened, and we're running. Chuck will have already left by the time you read this, and I'm pretending to go along with my reassignment to give him more time to get clear before I leave to meet up with him. I wish I could tell you where we're going, but it's too big of a risk.**_

_**If John Casey comes around, don't tell him anything. You need to act like Chuck's disappeared and you're going crazy with worry. **_

Ellie snorted. Like that was going to be hard. She shook her head and read on.

_**Casey is an NSA Colonel, assigned to Chuck for protection, **_

_**so he'll be trying to track us down once it's obvious I've gone off grid as well.**_

_** The entire apartment complex is under surveillance, except the bathrooms, so you need to act like this letter didn't freak you out. Take as long as you need to compose yourself before leaving the bathroom. Flush the toilet and wash your hands before you leave the room. The audio bugs will probably pick that up. You can talk with Devon about this, but only in the bathroom with the shower on, and be sure to whisper. He figured out our CIA affiliation last year, but we swore him to secrecy. Don't be mad at him for it, or you'll blow your cover.**_

_** Love to you and Devon,**_

_** Sarah L. Bartowski**_

Ellie's eyes nearly popped out onto the page. When in the _hell _had they had the time to get _married? _But that wasn't all. Somehow there was still more to the letter.

_** P.S. Thought that would get your attention. Sorry you missed the wedding. We would have told you but operational secrecy was paramount, and we couldn't risk the CIA or the NSA finding out. Kind of a moot point now, and I really wish you and my sister could have been there.**_

_** At least you can have the wedding pictures now. I hid copies in a manilla envelope under the third drawer in the bathroom, last week when you and Devon had me and Chuck over for dinner. Just don't let anyone else see them. Especially Casey or Morgan!**_

Ellie shook her head. Keeping all this 'who she could tell what' straight about all of this was making her head spin. Her eyes widened again at the next part.

_** Oh, and that thing with Awesome's bachelor party was a CIA mission. Devon was drugged, not drunk and the 'dancer' was CIA. Long story, that I can't really go into without committing more than the light treason I'm committing by leaving you this letter. I wish I could explain everything, but there's no time. I have to be in Langley by tonight if this whole thing is going to work.**_

_**I'll miss you.**_

Ellie stared at the last line for a long moment, trying not to hyperventilate. How long had they been lying to her? The whole damn time? That's what this letter meant, didn't it? They'd— she put the letter down on the sink and put one hand over her mouth to stifle a shout of rage, but it faded before she ever got that far, and she felt a grin spreading across her face. She took the letter up again and smiled at one line in particular.

_**Sarah L. Bartowski**_

Then, she blinked, remembering. Wedding photos! Her hands itched as she tore the drawers open in search of the promised envelope. Ellie's fingers shook as she ripped the top of the envelope away and clawed out the glossy photos. She froze, peering down at the pictures in horror. Her sister-in-law had let Chuck talk her into a _Star Wars_ _theme wedding_? As if the _CIA_ revelation hadn't been bad enough! When she finally got her hands on Chuck she was going to yell at him so loud that— and Devon had _known! _She was going to kill him for not telling her!

"Hey, babe? Where are you? I just got this weird message from Sarah, said to come home right away," Devon's voice carried in from the living room.

Ellie turned on the shower, darted over to the door, and poked her head out. "Bathroom, hon. Get in here."

Devon's face lit up. "Tandem shower? Awesome."

The door clicked shut behind him and he froze, skewered in place by his wife's glower. She thrust a handful of papers into his hands. "What," she said, her voice an icy whisper, "is the meaning of _this?_" She held up one of the wedding photos: Sarah in her Leia-as-Boussh-the-bounty-hunter armor, being given away by Darth Vader to Chuck dressed as Han Solo. Chewbacca appeared to be serving as best man. The Justice of the Peace wore a long-suffering expression, as if he'd now seen everything. He was the only one in the picture _not _dressed in Star Wars getup.

Devon swallowed a lump in his throat. Ellie was going to kill him, and it wasn't even his fault! "Oh, no. Not awesome..."

* * *

Chuck stared at his phone for a long moment. Morgan noticed and frowned. "Something wrong dude?" his friend asked.

After a moment, Chuck shook his head, grabbed Morgan by the assistant-manager vest and pulled him into a bearhug. Morgan's eyebrows tried to climb right off his face as he struggled to free himself from the death-grip. "Dude, what's wrong? Do you have 'the cancer'? I _knew_ I shouldn't have let you smoke that one cigarette in 8th grade."

Chuck pushed Morgan out to arm's length. "I can't talk about it, Morg," he said. "I've got to leave right now."

"No problem. I'll clock you out at five and see you back at the apartment?"

Chuck smiled sadly. "Thanks, buddy," he said. "You're the best. Goodbye."

Morgan scratched his head while Chuck stormed out the back door. What had _that _been about?

Chuck jumped down off the loading dock behind the Buy More, and checked over his shoulder. He pulled his burn phone briefly, using the modifications he'd made to loop the camera that looked down on the back of the store so that Casey wouldn't see him pull out his iPhone and smash it on the concrete. It took him a few seconds of staring at the wrecked iPhone to pull himself together and click the switch on his watch that would send a falsified GPS signal showing his return to the apartment he no longer shared with Morgan.

He walked with purpose around to the curb, where he pulled his watch off and dumped it into the garbage bin at the bus stop. This was probably the most dangerous part, standing out front waiting for the bus. He wasn't waiting long, only a few minutes, before a bus pulled up heading in the right direction. He got on and spent about half the cash he had on him on bus fare.

Even with LA traffic, the bus made good time, and he got off at the main bus terminal, bouncing the key to locker 313 on his palm. He wondered briefly if there was any significance to the number or if Sarah had just picked randomly. At that moment, Casey might be calling to arrange Sarah's replacement, or he might even have discovered Chuck's absence already. This part of the plan was all relying on Sarah to give him time to run, and he just didn't know for sure whether she had succeeded or not. There was no way _to _know without texting her on the burner, and she might still be in a room with Casey and unable to reply. Chuck tried to look everywhere at once without seeming like an enormous spaz and standing out to the people in the bus terminal as he walked to the line of lockers. He glanced around worriedly when he found the correct locker, but he didn't spot anything suspicious before he fumbled the key in the lock.

How long would it take Casey to double check the GPS, and see that the signal was coming from the watch at his desk, when his room was empty? Chuck could only alter the feed if he was nearby, because the RF emitter he'd used when he modified his burn phone only had a range of a couple miles, and he couldn't depend on the signal going through. And what if Casey had another tracker on him? He probably did, which is what made this whole bit— the initial escape— the most dangerous part of the plan. If Casey caught on fast enough he might get to the bus station before Chuck could head for LAX. It all went through his mind quickly, almost the same feeling he got when he flashed, the variables and the possibilities and the contingencies and counter-contingencies all threatening to panic him.

A thread of that fear turned into a worry that Casey had already discovered the plot and had beaten him to the locker, that a dye pack would go off in his face like in that heist movie that he couldn't remember the name of right then. Chuck took a deep breath, turned the key in the lock and slowly opened the locker, eyes winced closed against whatever would happen. After a few seconds, he squinted through one eye into the locker, before easing both eyes open fully.

In the locker was a black duffel bag. Chuck hauled it out and slung it over his shoulder before slamming the locker closed. He headed for the bathroom and found an empty stall, then sat down, duffel across his lap. Chuck fished out the burner, and sent Sarah a text. His hands were shaking.

_**Freaking out a little.**_

He knew if she was in Castle being reassigned just then, he shouldn't expect an immediate response, and the burners were a big damn secret so she would have it on silent mode, but still, he was disappointed when a minute passed and nothing came back. He shook himself out of the funk he was in and opened the duffel.

Inside he found a Ziploc bag with instructions in Sarah's handwriting, and a handful of ID packets. Each had a driver's license, and a couple of credit cards and some cash all rubber banded together. Chuck took the Ziploc out and set it on the toilet paper dispenser, digging out a leather wallet and five banded stacks of twenty dollar bills. He grinned, noticing that the wallet was painted to look like a classic NES controller. She knew him too well, but, he reflected, that was far from a bad thing. Chuck quickly transferred a couple hundred dollars of the money as well as the driver's license and credit cards bearing a Post-It marked '1' for his first identity into the wallet.

There was also a smaller duffel inside the first in which Chuck stowed his nerd herd uniform and his old wallet, and every scrap of clothing he wore without bothering to take out his own money first. Also in the larger duffel, the one he would take with him, were two changes of clothes, a money belt, and a bug sweeper.

He passed the little electronic device carefully over everything and was a little surprised. There was no trace of any signals coming from the remains of his Nerd Herd outfit or his wallet, or, as he stood mostly naked, every inch of his body. No microbots in his system this time.

Casey must be slipping, or confident Chuck wasn't going to run anymore. He hoped it was the former. Things would be a lot simpler if Casey lost a step on this one.

Once the smaller duffel was stuffed with everything he was to leave behind, Chuck placed the other ids and the bulk cash into the money belt and strapped it on, redressing in a pair of slacks from the black duffel. An undershirt went on over the money belt before a blue button down that was a little roomy so the bulge of the money belt wouldn't be as apparent. Chuck went through the rest of the bag.

In an exterior pocket of the larger duffel bag that would serve as his carry on during his flight, Chuck found an iPod Touch as well with a card taped to it detailing the flights he would have to book. He stood on the seat of the toilet and peered over the top of the stall carefully to make sure he was alone in the bathroom, before straightening and knocking out one of the ceiling tiles so he could stuff the duffel with the last remnants of his old life up into the false ceiling. His hand shook as he replaced the tile, but no one walked in during the awkward moment.

Chuck walked from the bus station to the closest Starbucks, using the iPod to access their wireless internet to sign up for an anonymous email address through which to access his new identity's Southwest Airlines account. It took him just a few minutes to cash in the open-ended ticket Sarah had prepared. He checked in online and made a note of the confirmation number and barely made it back to the bus terminal in time to grab a seat on the next bus out to LAX.

During the bus ride, he checked the iPod and found that Sarah had copied almost his entire music library onto it. It felt good that he wasn't leaving behind _everything _from his life. Once the bus dropped him off at the airport, Chuck printed his boarding pass and was ready for the first leg of the three-day wild-goose-chase on which he was about to lead the intelligence community at large.

* * *

10:00 pm EST/7:00 pm PST

CIA Headquarters

Langley Virginia

7th Floor

"The Deputy Director will see you now."

Sarah thanked the woman with a gracious nod. She might have been a receptionist, but she was a receptionist with TS clearance and at least two semi-automatic pistols on her person, and likely a sub-machinegun under the desk. The weapons themselves weren't that intimidating, but to be the receptionist for the Deputy Ops, the woman was likely a former Olympic-level sharpshooter in addition to typing 90 words per minute. That earned a nod from Sarah Walker. She walked into the office of the Deputy Director of Operations, with a little flutter in her stomach. It was odd; the last time she'd been there Graham had been DDO, and now he was dead. That was nothing new, of course. He'd been dead for almost three years now. She hadn't been to the grave yet, and there wasn't time this trip. Sarah didn't think she even had time to send his wife a belated condolence letter. While undercover in Burbank, it had been against protocol, and she'd been unwilling to risk even such a small breach. The threat of being shipped off away from Chuck before she had an adequate plan in place was too great; as much as Virginia Graham had been like a second mother to her, Chuck came first. Being in Graham's old office, the wound was fresh again, and the new Deputy Director of Operations startled her with his jovial greeting. Myers was middle-aged, handsome in an unassuming way, with just a hint of gray at his temples. Sarah held in a frown. He reminded her most strongly of her father, and Sarah didn't know what to make of that impression _at all_.

"Please, Agent Walker, have a seat. We'll discuss what you want to do." When Sarah sat down, he leaned forward. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee?" His polite demeanor had her unsettled.

"I'm fine," she said with a frown. "What did you mean, 'what _I _want'? I thought I was just here to get handed my next assignment."

"Well, that's true, but not the whole story. We'd like to move you out of Deep Cover. Your talents are too valuable to the Agency to risk you being captured or killed."

"Wait, I'm not being reprimanded or anything? Didn't Beckman tell you why I'm being reassigned?"

"Of course she did. Given the difficulties she and the late Agent Shaw went through getting Agent Bartowski up and running in the first place, which it seems were obviously related to the setbacks you met in Prague, I would have thought she'd think things through a little better. I've read all your mission briefs, and I'm convinced if Chuck ever found out you'd died on a mission, he'd fall apart. The psych evals all agree on that as well."

"So, you're sidelining me so that the—"

"Intersect," Myers finished for her. "Yes, I've been briefed. And no, we're not sidelining you _just _so the Intersect will function properly, though to be perfectly frank, that is a concern. I considered putting _you _in a bunker, but the people in legal tell me that's the moral equivalent of pimping you out to him," Myers shrugged that little nugget aside. "Though if that surveillance tape of Beckman's is accurate I'm sure you wouldn't mind. That was some hello. Besides, you're resourceful enough to get word out to the press, no matter what facility we put you in. And the CIA can't afford another black eye right now."

Sarah's eyes had widened at the beginning of Myers' speech, but by the end, she was worried her eyes would fall out of her face. He had a way about him, much like her father, where he'd keep whipping huge ideas at you until your head spun, though Myers' concerns were foreign intelligence, not how to fleece rich idiots. She blinked as something the Director had said filtered through the jumble Myers was making of her expectations. They'd considered putting _her _in a bunker? If it let her and Chuck be together, she would have considered it. And she did consider it now. She had a brief vision of her life with Chuck in the bunker, waiting around while Chuck went on missions, only returning to the bunker for a few brief days during his downtime. And she held in a shudder of horror. "If that plan's been scrubbed, I assume you have another," she said with a flat stare. It wasn't a question.

Myers laughed softly. "Even the DCI doesn't know. Political appointees leak like a sieve sometimes. I'm career CIA, Agent Walker, like you. They recruited my wife and I twenty five years ago out of Boston College; we were never in the field together, so I never had to go through what you and Chuck did, but I can empathize."

Sarah gave the Deputy Director a very level glance, masking a hint of worry about the man's phrasing. Did he know about their _wedding_? Was that even possible? She had kept the flow of information on that extremely tight. Maybe it had been a mistake having that set of wedding pictures printed up for Ellie. Sarah kept up her mask, and he chuckled, misreading the expression slightly.

"I understand your skepticism, but, there's plenty you can do to serve your country, even as drawn down as our Human Intelligence capability is. Your experience in the field makes you an ideal candidate for a position at the Farm, or here at Headquarters: supervisory, training, admin, threat analysis, or S&T even, given your work with the Human Intersect project, anything you want really; you can pretty much write your own ticket. Graham was always grooming you for DDO eventually, and this is the next step on that path. They'll probably want to kick me upstairs to DCI one of these days, and let me tell you, I do not relish the idea of being the guy all the political _shit _lands on.

Walker, you've been an active field agent for almost thirteen years, counting your time at Harvard. You've hardly had any downtime at all in nearly _four_ years. I think that's probably the longest continuous undercover op in CIA history, and it being on US soil doesn't mitigate the strain. It's a miracle you haven't had a breakdown. It's time to hang it up, at least temporarily."

"I... I don't know."

Myers grinned. "You'd have a fixed address, so Chuck could find you when he wasn't in the field. Eventually we'd want to bring him in to train the next generation of Intersect Agents as well. He's already got more field experience than at least half of our personnel. You know as well as I do that the half life for most agents is only a couple of years."

"I'll have to think about it," Sarah said at last. "Beckman never talked about where the CIA wanted to take the Intersect project in the future."

"It was need-to-know. And now, you need to know. We can't have agents in the field getting emotionally compromised, so a reassignment is necessary while you're both field operatives, but my training officers? Please, I kind of prefer it if they keep their dating 'in-house' so to speak. A training officer needs to care about their charges, the emotional isolation that is so important for a field operative is counterproductive for what you'd be doing."

"Still, I'll have to think about it. I've got some leave saved up," Sarah said. "And you're right, I need some down time." Four years as Chuck's handler in a full-time undercover situation meant that even on her days off, she was earning leave at combat-pay rates, with no opportunity to use it at her discretion. In that special circumstance, she earned at half again the normal rates, and it rolled over without limit. Sarah felt a grin coming on—too much time spent around Chuck—her poker face was suffering, but she thought she held most of it in.

"Of course. I was going to suggest you take some time, anyway. Hang on." Myers spun his chair, flicked on his computer monitor and pulled up Walker's file. He whistled softly. "Yes you certainly do have plenty of vacation days saved up. How much do you want to take?"

"All of it."

Myers eyes widened. "That's almost seven full months. You're not going to take half a year to decide are you?"

"No sir. Of course not." Sarah said, her letter of resignation almost burning a hole in her purse. Seven months before the CIA started looking for her? It almost seemed too good to be true. "I'm sorry I can't give you a firm answer right now. I hope you didn't stay late just for this meeting?"

"No, no. There's an op on for later tonight and I want to watch the satellite feed. If you'll excuse me..."

That was obviously a dismissal, and Sarah stood, shaking the DDO's hand, and turning for the door. She was floored by the offer and didn't really see the drab corridors of CIA Headquarters as she walked to the elevators. Sarah had never imagined the DDO would be making long term plans like that. It probably shouldn't have surprised her. Chuck wasn't a threat as far as turning traitor, as long as they didn't do something insane like try to kill Ellie and Devon, or, now that she thought about it, Sarah herself. Though the information in his head would always be a security risk, the possibility of other human intersects would make his situation less unique and therefore seemingly less dangerous to people like Beckman. And apparently the CIA side of the equation was much less a hurdle than she'd been expecting.

Still, Sarah needed to talk to Chuck about it, and besides, if she held onto her letter of resignation she could 'find' Chuck and 'negotiate' his return to the fold without consequences, if they decided that's what they should do. Given the scope of what Myers was suggesting, that might just be the best course of action, but she wasn't about to make a life-changing decision like that without talking to her husband first. She couldn't stop a slow grin from slipping across her face every time she thought about that. Her husband. But then the grin faded.

She paused in the foyer, standing on the seal set into the floor, and looked over at the wall. They had finally decided to give Shaw a star on that wall, and Sarah stood looking at it with mixed emotions. The man had tried to kill her, after all. After a minute or so, she shook her head, unable to make up her mind whether to be pissed her agency had done him the honor of giving him that star, and she walked out without a backward glance.

Once in her rental car, Sarah pulled her burner out of the secret compartment in her purse. She had missed several texts from Chuck.

_**Freaking out a little.**_

That showed up as 5:03 pm; thanks to her cross country flight, that put it at about 2 pm LA time, probably just after retrieving his burn bag from the bus terminal locker. The next was hours later.

_**Miss you already, about to head through security. Good luck**_.

That text appeared to have come in only moments ago, at 10:30 pm, which was more than five hours later. She frowned in worry. Why was he so far behind schedule? He should have been already on a plane. Had something happened? Sarah scanned the next text and frowned.

_**Car went up faster than expected. Eyebrows singed.**_

_**Effectiveness of dance possibly effected. :(**_

Sarah's own eyebrows went up and she bit back a gasp—not the eyebrows!—and glanced at the time-stamp. It also read as 10:30 pm, and she frowned momentarily before realization hit her. She'd had her phone off for the flight and then her meeting with the DDO, so when she turned her phone back on, all of the texts had come through at once. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and flipped out the keypad on her burner.

_**Miss you too. Just got interesting job offer. **_

_**We'll discuss when I get home.**_

Sarah hadn't driven for more than three minutes when her burner beeped. She'd forgotten the text noise for it, so it took her a few moments of glancing around the interior of her rental car in confusion before she remembered to dig the thing back out of her purse.

_**Can't discuss now? I have thirty minutes layover in location 4**_.

Sarah grumped and pulled over to the side of the highway. She definitely needed to reassure him, but at least he was remembering communications discipline and hadn't come out and said 'Oklahoma City' instead of location 4.

_**Too sensitive for text. Discuss IN PERSON**_.

Sarah pulled into a DC-area Greyhound terminal and tossed her Sarah Walker identity papers into the trash can, CIA credentials and all. The driver's license under the name Kara Thrace allowed her to redeem a bus ticket to Rapid City, South Dakota for which she'd paid months in advance. She kept her iPhone long enough to call the 24-hour appointment-hotline of Ms. Thrace's doctor in Rapid City. They could fit her in early in the morning, so she could be prescribed her birth control shot. Sarah didn't intend to run the risk of another 'Barstow Incident.' As long as the Rapid City doctor wasn't behind schedule in the morning, she could make the flight without difficulty that would take her to the next of the dozen disposable cover identities stashed across the country through which she would go before she met back up with Chuck, just to be safe.

Then, waiting for her bus to depart, she called her landlord in DC and left a message instructing him to let the lease expire on her apartment. The CIA had paid her lease while she was undercover, and it had probably already been renewed for another year anyway, but she didn't want to have to worry about the NSA tracking activity in Sarah Walker's accounts and getting the man into trouble. Her Sarah Walker accounts were already mostly drained anyway, save for one or two recent deposits, but her landlord in DC had been a thoroughly unobjectionable man in his mid-seventies who she'd come to look upon as a sort of substitute grandfather. He deserved at least _some _closure.

Once she was finished, she pulled the SIM card from her iPhone and snapped it between her fingers, severing all official ties to her life as a CIA operative. She rose, pulled the battery and dumped Agent Sarah Walker's iPhone into the bus' trashcan. She returned to her seat just as the Greyhound shuddered into motion and left the terminal. For all intents and purposes Sarah Walker had ceased to exist.

Then again, Sarah _Bartowski_ was alive and well and on her way home to the love of her life. She couldn't hold in the grin any longer, and found herself beaming a dazzling smile out into the night through the window of the grungy Greyhound bus. Home. That had a nice ring to it.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Cliffhanger revenge season is over... for now. Reviews are appreciated as always, and even though writing Fan-Fic is going to be back-burner-ed for the next couple months in preparation for my Thesis Defense, I still plan on updating when I can. Check my blog, ninjastorytime (dot) blogspot (dot) com, for status updates in the meantime.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Thanks as always are due to my beta, _daywalkr82_, for correcting a truly staggering number of comma splices in this chapter. I don't know what my problem is with that anyway. I know better, really, I swear.

* * *

Chapter 31: The Night Chicago Died (Or the midafternoon, whatever)

* * *

0700 PST

Burbank, California

Castle Facility

"Well, Colonel... where are you on the search?" Beckman's eyes had dark circles under them, and her usually neat bun was slightly disheveled. She'd been up all night as well, once it had become obvious her asset had flown the coop.

"We discovered Agent Bartowski's absence at 11:05 pm. The predator drone was still circling his apartment at that time, so he must have disabled the tracker some time ago. His phone was found smashed out behind the Buy More loading docks. The internal clock registered the exact moment he smashed it. Agent Bartowski went off the grid at 1:34 pm, after receiving a text message. This occurred at some point during the briefing where Walker was informed of her reassignment." Casey said. He reserved judgment on what that meant for the moment.

"What were the contents of the text message?" Beckman said. "Who was it from?"

Casey grunted. This part was somewhat impressive. "Apparently, it was from me, but that's impossible, because you were on the teleconference with me the entire time. I'm assuming Walker sent the text, but we don't have any evidence; so, assuming it's her, she must have used an internet phone cloning site. I have the local FBI field office tracking down the IP address, but I doubt they'll find anything. The text itself was one word. 'Pineapple.' Its a Buy More emergency code phrase for use during high-volume shopping days." The Colonel got a little misty-eyed. "I remember he used it to set off a panic and help us catch a Fulcrum team that had infiltrated the store a couple of Thankgivings ago." Good times. "Bartowski and Walker likely set this up between themselves in an effort to throw suspicion on me and hinder pursuit."

"What evidence _have_ you that Walker is involved in this? Surely their one tryst didn't give even someone of Walker's capabilities time enough to set up such an elaborate ruse... unless you know something I don't?" Beckman's voice took on an iron-plated demand for answers: her command voice.

"I don't know General, but something's bugging me. In answer to your question, regarding evidence: none, General. It's all circumstantial and conjecture," Casey mused. "Now, I'm just thinking out loud here, General... but considering how compromised they both were before the 'incident,' in Prague... nah... that's crazy. They would have to have been planning this for— son of a bitch! It _was ! _It was all an act, and a doddamned good one."

"What do you mean, Colonel?"

"Prague..." Casey growled, realizing the truth even as he spoke. "That was for our benefit. Walker knew we were watching. If not for the timing of the thing I don't think I'd have put it together. If they were hiding a relationship from us, I doubt Walker would take reassignment lying down, and—"

"You're correct on that at least, Colonel. I just heard from CIA this morning. Agent Walker's reassignment meeting was not what I expected. She had a private meeting with the DDO last night a few hours before you discovered Chuck was missing. He tells me she's either tendering her resignation or taking a job at the Farm."

"I'm sorry? I don't understand."

"Well, first she decided to take her accumulated vacation, but the Deputy Director says she's conflicted. Myers couldn't get more out of her than an 'I'll think about it.'"

"So, as far as the CIA is concerned..."

"Agent Walker has done nothing wrong. All of our surveillance the last few months except the feed from Walker's hotel on the night of the 27th shows them at the height of professionalism, and additionally, CIA has lodged a formal complaint about taping her at her private residence without cause, anyway."

Casey grunted, and Beckman continued. "One lapse isn't enough to convince Myers that she's gone UA, so we can't expect any real help from the DCI on this one until she doesn't show back up when her vacation runs out. As a result, most of our search will have to be electronic. What else? Give me everything."

Casey sighed. "Yes ma'am, we picked up Bartowski's trail at LAX. Facial recognition has him passing through security at 2:20pm. He checked in online, brought no checked luggage, so he never saw a ticket clerk. The TSA people at the security checkpoint couldn't put a name to his personnel photo, and he flew Southwest. The airline doesn't have seat assignments, so we're having to track down everybody on the passenger manifest and cross-check DMV records before we can figure out what identity he's using.

We do however have him on tape boarding a flight to Houston Hobby at 3:25, which arrived there at 6:14 Pacific Time. He rented a car in Houston, with a credit card under the alias Charles Newcastle, and drove cross-town to Bush Intercontinental. Cameras at Bush pick him up boarding a flight to Austin, one of the Flight attendants remembered his name this time. Irving Bannister, but in Austin, credit card receipts from a Michael Charles correspond to security footage at the rental car company he used. He's going through cover identities at every stop and it's difficult sifting through everything.

We put out an APB on the car an hour ago, but the Austin PD found the license plates on an old Ford POS pickup truck almost immediately. We sent out a bulletin on _those_ plates as well, and they just turned up on a semi at a truck stop twenty miles north of Austin. The UT campus police found the plates originally belonging to the semi on the burned out hulk of what looks like Bartowski's rental car in a back alley near the University of Texas at Austin Campus. They found the car just a few minutes ago, and called it in. That's were Bartowski's trail ends. Local PD is checking security cameras in the area, but I'm not hopeful.

We've got him flagged in the photo recognition software at all border checkpoints and airports. Beyond that, unless we want to fabricate a story about him being a dangerous criminal and risk plastering his face all over the evening news, I think he's successfully eluded pursuit for now. On Walker, I've—"

Beckman scowled. "Agent Walker poses something of a problem. Her status as CIA agent makes any attempts to track her in similar fashion problematic. If she were to be declared rogue things would be different, but CIA is being stubborn sayingthat their agent is exactly where she's supposed to be."

"Where did she say she was going on vacation? If we can prove she isn't there, maybe CIA would be more amenable to our tracking."

"Myers said if they knew where she was going it wouldn't be a vacation. Apparently she goes off-grid every time she takes leave. Graham left a note in her file for Myers to expect it." Beckman grated her teeth, audible even through the video conference.

"Huh," Casey said, "well, she's too smart to lead us to Chuck directly, anyway. Either Walker coached Chuck really well, or he paid attention in counter espionage and evasion during training. How were his marks there?"

Beckman's mouth tightened. "It was nearly his best section... right behind electronic surveillance countermeasures."

"I need to go back over the surveillance on Bartowski's residence then. Run a computer search."

"Looking for what? The manhunt should take priority."

"Recurring frames." Casey said, "Over the last six months."

"You think Bartowski looped your surveillance feed?"

"He often had access to my apartment, and to Castle, without my presence or direct supervision for long enough that he could have planted a worm or virus that could allow him back door access into the system. A key logger could have given him my password, and from there it would be relatively simple to insert looped footage of him asleep in bed from previous nights."

"I think I'm getting the picture, Colonel." Beckman said, seething. "Bartowski and Walker looped the feed so that they could carry on an affair right under your nose. Does that about cover it?"

"Yes," Casey said, shrugging sheepishly. "There should be evidence, though. He had to have left some traces; we could go to the CIA with it and... oh... well played, Walker."

"What is it now Colonel?"

"Walker requested that I turn off the surveillance yesterday evening, so she could 'say goodbye' to Bartowski. I turned off the monitor so I wouldn't have to watch, though I left the recording on. Now I see that really it was just to keep me from spotting the fact Bartowski had flown the coop, and to cover up for Bartowski fudging the tapes a little bit longer." Casey pulled up the feed and scrolled through entire night's worth of recording. The whole complex was empty until Ellie returned home at 1:30, then Sarah showed up a few minutes later.

"I'll real time you this, General." Casey and Beckman watched Ellie and Sarah talk briefly, the audio giving Sarah a brief out in regard to her cover. Then she left.

"That's it, Colonel? When did Bartowski plant his watch in his room, and how?"

"I don't know ma'am. The GPS coordinates show him at work until 1:30 or so, when I originally thought he had returned home for Walker's 'special goodbye' which tracks with the coordinates the watch reported. The watch giving Bartowski's location as his bedroom matches the serial number of the one you issued him. It's probably been on his desk for weeks, if this was a pre-established flight plan, which seems likely." Casey said. "He must have obtained a duplicate watch and somehow discovered a method to send a false GPS signal from the second watch, showing him driving home early from the Buy More as soon as he got the text. In reality, we have to assume he was going to retrieve a burn bag containing the cover identities he's been using in his flight. If Walker helped him prepare those, we might find her fingerprints around the drop location or on the bag he ditched his Nerd Herd clothes in. Might be enough for the CIA if we link them—"

"Except that I gave Agent Walker the order to do exactly that." Beckman said. "Contingency plan Theta, if you remember. You have a burn bag for Bartowski as well, yes?"

"Of course, General. That could explain Bartowski's access to the second watch."

"If Walker _did_ prepare Bartowski's escape plan, it doesn't matter, because I ordered her to be ready in case the team became compromised."

"I assume your scenario involved one of us being captured and tortured for the information, not myself or Agent Walker turning traitor."

Beckman's lips twitched. "What would you call agent Walker's behavior, assuming that she _is_ helping Bartowski disappear?"

"I don't know. Treason is a stretch. Agents go off the grid all the time, General, and usually there's a good reason. The Costa Gravas mission springs to mind."

"Hmph," Beckman said.

"At any rate, General," Casey said. "Agent Walker has disappeared off the face of the planet. I put her in the facial recognition software as well, and she hasn't popped up so..."

"I appreciate the initiative, Colonel Casey, but the CIA will make you pull the request by the end of the day," the General said.

Casey grinned. "No ma'am, they won't. I may have put her _face_ on the watch list, but I used my crazy Aunt Ida Coburn's name and social security number. The tasking won't raise any red flags at the CIA; she nearly tanked my NSA-clearance background check way back when, for being a dirty pinko liberal, so it should seem perfectly reasonable, even if she is pushing seventy. Chuck's ugly mug is the one more likely to bring a result anyway. And that car fire he staged has the smell of the end of a false trail, to make us think that's where he went to ground. Texas is a big place to disappear in. 100,000 square miles to search would keep us spinning our heels for weeks if he just hid in a shed somewhere in the hill country. They're both gone. We just have to wait and hope that if they make a mistake we can get there before the bad guys. Any luck on this new player you think took over the Ring?"

Beckman shrugged. "No. What little evidence I've found points to a Russian connection, and since the fall of the Soviet Union our Human Intelligence priorities have shifted to the middle-east. All identified Ring operatives and front companies have gone quiet, a little too quiet, if you ask me. Everybody here at Ft. Meade is calling it a 'Brand New Day,' but I'm not convinced. The Intersect would have been helpful in this regard."

Casey nodded, and left unsaid the sentiment that in _that _case, maybe it hadn't been the smartest move in the world to try to break up the Intersect and his girlfriend.

* * *

1412 CST

Chicago, Illinois

O'Hare Airport

Chuck winced and resisted the urge to scratch his beard. He yawned spectacularly and passed Sterling Grimes' passport to the TSA checker, along with his boarding pass. He had to chuckle inwardly at a couple of the names Sarah had chosen for him. He'd taken the time during the flight to Austin to lock himself in the First Class bathroom and glance at all of his cover IDs, and Sterling Grimes was far from the oddest. That 'honor' went to the one labeled #11 Aedelbert Pennyworth. He shook his head remembering. The early identities at least had something in common with his real name, and weren't cover identities meant to be unmemorable? The agent gave him back his ID, and Chuck passed through security for the fourth time. Changing identities was much more complicated at airports, where they insisted on seeing photo IDs before issuing boarding passes. Thankfully he had yet to run up against any of those full-body RF scanners. His techno-nerd nature had him worried that the TSA screeners would notice the money belt and ask to search it. Being discovered with nearly a dozen different sets of identification papers was probably high on their list of 'suspicious behavior,' and he couldn't afford to be arrested. The machines themselves had been present in Houston, but roped off and not in use, thanks to the huge outcry and threats of boycotts popularized by Fox News.

The same held true at Chicago's O'Hare airport, and Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and silent 'thank-you' to all Luddites when he passed through the less effective MAD scanner without problems.

O'Hare was an older airport, and renovations seemed to be constant. There were some areas that were shiny and new, others where white counters had faded all the way to yellow with age. Unlike LAX, the Chicago airport seemed cramped somehow, despite its massive size, with narrow hallways taking odd turnings due to its patchwork nature. It didn't have the more modern open style of huge windows letting in natural light, at least not everywhere, anyway. It was a kind of strange mix of old and new and under construction, with plywood blocking off sections where workers were still hard at work. Chuck glanced at his watch. He'd replaced his old NSA issued tracking watch with the Governor, modified slightly so that it also functioned as a watch. He still had half an hour before his flight started boarding.

Chuck had been surprised that his father hadn't bothered to add a watch function, given that he'd built the thing out of a watch in the first place, but it had only taken him a few minutes with a cheap ten-dollar Timex purchased with cash along his drive from Austin north to Oklahoma City, and it worked fine now.

He yawned again, and knuckled his back as he thought about that drive. Chuck had nearly fallen asleep once on I-45, but there was no stopping until he was back with Sarah, and so he'd just chugged Red Bull and powered through. As a result he had been groggy with exhaustion by the time he'd made it to the bank in Oklahoma City earlier that morning and picked up the package from the safety deposit box Sarah had somehow found the time to arrange under his fifth alias. He'd been a little surprised by what he found.

Chuck resisted that urge to scratch his face again, because under the beard, he was wearing some kind of latex application that altered his apparent facial structure. The application instructions Sarah had left for him in Oklahoma were detailed and easy to follow, but he still found himself glancing at his reflection in every mirror or window he passed. Slicking down his hair had taken care of the possibility Casey could identify him by his haircut. It was a marvel of modern science that three ounces of plastic, a fake beard, and a five dollar bottle of hair gel were all it took to fool untold billions of dollars worth of government-funded facial recognition software. Granted, he figured the fabrication of his fake face had cost a fair amount of money, and he felt a twinge of guilt. Sarah was probably halfway through her savings, and Chuck's own money was, for all intents and purposes, gone.

Back in Burbank, Chuck had been far from a happy camper when Sarah had sprung that portion of the plan on him. His wife hadn't bothered to explain at the time, and what Chuck thought was going to be secret-date-night had turned... odd... very quickly. He'd tried to block out that meeting, months ago, when she'd insisted on sticking straws up his nose so he could breathe and taking a papier-mache cast of his head, but now that he knew what it was for, he was less upset about it.

He stopped at the Hudson News and perused their candy selection, using the opportunity to scope the gate area for threats. It was becoming second nature, and he'd actually enjoyed that aspect of his abortive spy-training. Chuck finished his scan without incident, and completed his purchase, a small box of Mike and Ike's, for which he was enormously overcharged.

It looked like the flight to Boise was about half-full, given the availability of seating at the gate, which was a relief. He'd wound up in coach on the flight from Houston to Austin, sandwiched between a crying baby and a musclebound bear of a man who must have been four feet wide, and the airline hadn't let Chuck spring for an upgrade to first class. He really needed the extra leg room. He'd had a cramp all the way through the drive up to Oklahoma City.

Chuck sank into a chair and pulled his iPod out, cranking some Bon Iver and letting his frame relax. His eyes drifted closed, and what seemed moments later, someone nudged him with an elbow. His eyes came open and he jumped in his seat, staring up at an elderly Asian gentleman in a treadbare tweed suit who was vaguely familiar. Chuck couldn't place him immediately. "We're boarding," the man said. "I didn't want you to sleep through it."

"Thanks," Chuck said as he pulled his earbuds out. He checked his watch again, and nearly thirty minutes had passed. "I really zoned out, there."

"No problem," the man said without the slightest trace of an accent. Chuck frowned, that nagging hint of familiarity extended to his accent, or lack thereof. This was Chicago, shouldn't the man have... did people from Chicago _have _accents? He looked more closely.

His eyes widened. "Yoshi Takamura?"

Yoshi blinked. "Why, yes. Have we met?"

Chuck blurted out the truth before he could contain himself. "I took your class at Stanford! PDE's in Reference to Stacked Polynomial Algorithm Searching. That stuff blew my mind back then."

Professor Takamura seemed pleased he was so warmly remembered. "Maybe we'll have a chance to discuss the subject some more on the flight, Mr. …?"

Chuck remembered his cover at the last moment and didn't blurt out his real name. It was close, though. "Sterling Grimes," he mentally berated himself. "I'd like that," Chuck found himself saying aloud, despite the echo of disapproval he was getting from imaginary-angel-on-his-shoulder-Sarah. He grabbed his duffel from the floor near his feet, his eyes passing over the crowd of people milling past the gate area as he turned.

The flash struck mid turn, and he stumbled.

A picture of a blast site flickered past. A mug shot from a Turkish prison. The name Dmitry Yevtushenko, followed by pages upon pages of a CIA profile dossier stamped with _Wanted: Dead or Alive_. He blinked out of the flash, still in mid-stumble. Professor Takamura caught him. "Are you alright?"

Chuck blinked several times quickly and pushed away. "I'm..." He coughed into his fist. "I'm fine. God, I'm so clumsy sometimes I trip over my own feet."

Takamura waved it away, and they shuffled toward the stewardess scanning passengers' boarding passes. Chuck felt his palms sweating. That flash... he couldn't shake it off. He knew he shouldn't be letting himself dwell on it. If he went after the man he could miss his flight, or more importantly get himself caught, or... no, he was someone else's problem. They were nearly to the gate, and Chuck wavered. He needed to get on this plane. Sarah would be waiting for him at the end of the seemingly endless string of airplanes and buses and God knows what else, but the man had been wearing a _TSA_ uniform, Chuck remembered with a start, and that changed everything, didn't it? Terrorists had infiltrated the TSA. It was one of those worst-case 'threat-level midnight' scenarios Casey had tacked up on the old-fashioned cork-board he'd set up in Castle, and Chuck was right here, perfectly placed to stop it. He struggled to make up his mind and stepped forward, the ticket reader mere steps away. _Sarah_ was what was important, she loved him, and they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, and even on the run from the NSA it was going to be amazing. He swallowed. But… people could die if he didn't intervene… He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

The stewardess at the gate cleared her throat. She had a grip on his boarding pass, but Chuck's fingers had tightened, and she tugged gently. "Sir?"

"I just... remembered I left my pen at the newsstand," Chuck said, pulling his boarding pass back and slipping it into his coat pocket.

"Don't miss the flight!" Takamura said, pausing in the jetway to call after him. Chuck glanced back and waved, before fixing his eyes on his watch. He pressed a few buttons, and set the timer for fifteen minutes. When it went off, he'd have five minutes to get back to his flight and board before they sealed the doors.

Chuck glanced back after another thirty seconds to make sure the woman standing at the gate didn't notice when he strode past the newsstand without so much as pausing. Yevtushenko was just disappearing around one of O'Hare's odd corners, and Chuck's eyes snapped up to the convex mirror up above the corner to make sure he didn't disappear for good.

His heart pounded, and he was idly afraid that his anti-facial-recognition disguise was going to slip from the flop-sweat he was enduring. It wasn't his usual reaction to a mission. Usually he would joke around with Casey, or gaze longingly into Sarah's eyes when Beckman wasn't paying attention, and that would help with the anxiety, but they weren't here. It was just him, just Chuck Bartowski, and he was in over his head, in uncharted waters. He had no idea what he was walking into, how many men might be involved in whatever plot was unfolding that day in Chicago, or how to _begin_ to handle the situation. Very briefly, he considered calling in a tip, but he didn't know who to call, and… well, he_ could _call Casey, he supposed, but that would pretty much end his bid for freedom and a life on his own terms with Sarah. It was a last resort. He paused before following the terrorist-for-hire around the corner. Had he just forgotten about the _Intersect? _What was he worrying about? He could Kung-fu the bad guys and make it to his plane with time to spare. No problems, no sweat. Chuck wiped his hands on his pantleg. Well, so much for no sweat.

Chuck walked a few steps behind a young couple, peering around them when he could to keep the terrorist in view without being conspicuous. The camouflage plan didn't last long, though, as the couple turned toward each other and started making out. Chuck sighed. Seriously? Not even leaning up against anything, and completely out of nowhere, they started making out. Chuck changed his gait to take him past the necking teenagers—they had to be—no one past their teens could be that oblivious to the world. Yevtushenko paused and glanced behind him, and Chuck cursed silently, walking right past his target. His thumb twitched, and Chuck briefly considered trying to use the ol' chop socky on him, but there were far too many people around, and the fact that the bad guy was wearing a TSA uniform stayed his hand. Chuck stopped at the next spot where he could do so without drawing attention to himself, and peered out the corner of his eye at the man he'd flashed on while pretending to peruse the menu at Pizza Hut Express.

Yetushenko stopped in front of a door, and quickly tapped a five-digit code into a keypad set into the metal above the doorknob. Chuck squinted, but he couldn't tell for sure what the sequence had been. It started with a 2, he thought, but beyond that, it was anyone's guess. The Russian slipped through the door and out of sight. Chuck darted over, trying to stick his foot in the door and keep it from latching, but he was too far away, and the door clicked shut right in his face. Chuck tried the knob just in case, but it merely rattled in his hand. He slumped dejectedly and turned his back on the door. A woman in her late forties frowned at him.

"Should you be messing with that door?" She asked, in a tone that led him to believe the question was largely rhetorical.

Chuck flashed a half-smile and whipped his wallet out briefly, just a brief flash of leather. "Federal Agent," he explained, tucking the wallet back into the inside pocket of his sport coat before she could see a badge, or lack thereof. Or the fact that it was painted to look like an NES controller. Chuck winced inwardly, and for the first time, _ever_, wished Sarah could be a little less awesome. "Move along, ma'am."

She frowned sourly and moved on. The crowd was thinning a little, and he needed to take action _now _or the bad guys would get away. Finding them again in the giant maze of O'Hare Airport would take him at least a half an hour, and his flight to Boise would be long gone. Chuck studied the doorknob and keypad more intently. He recognized it after a moment as a Duralock 600. LargeMart had sold them until there was some kind of product recall. Chuck frowned. What was it that was wrong with the doors? He couldn't remember off the top of his head.

He glanced around the concourse again, and he could feel his palms sweating. Everyone was watching him... Everyone. The little kids playing Uno between the lines of benches? Watching him. The elderly woman with the walker and the breathing mask? Watching him. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut. No one was watching him. He was just being paranoid because he was trying to break into a locked room in an airport, and that was a faux-pas of _beyond_ epic proportions, like yelling 'fire' in a crowded theater... while wearing a Nixon mask. Very pointed questions would soon be asked of him, if he couldn't figure this out. His hands were shaking.

Chuck opened one eye to squint at the keypad. Come on, Intersect, anything? He shook his head, trying to clear the jumble of his thoughts. He wasn't thinking clearly because he was near panic, and if he couldn't think he couldn't remember how to break into this room and Yevtushenko and all his buddies were going to do something really terrible and people were going to die and he could have stopped it if he hadn't been freaking out so bad and—

He flashed, only for a moment, but just that quickly, his brain flooded with information, though not about the door and keypad. His breathing evened out, and Chuck could feel his heartbeat slowing down from the speed-metal it had been playing against his ribcage to something more like Barber's Adagio for Strings. His hands didn't shake anymore, and when he wiped his hands on his pantleg again, they stayed dry. Chuck glanced at the keypad again, and racked his brain. Everything seemed so much simpler now that he wasn't on the verge of hyperventilating.

It was a simple matter, when it came down to it. The Duralock 600 had turned out to have a firmware flaw that, unless the unit was torn out completely and shipped back to the manufacturer couldn't be fixed. He glanced around the edges of the metal plate holding the doorknob and keypad, checking for telltale toolmarks that would have been made during that process. He grinned, and tapped in the factory reset override code that had nearly bankrupted the Duralock Corporation, and the door opened smoothly.

He made sure to shut it behind him, and for good measure, he reset the code to something he'd remember on his way back. 77777, which was, admittedly, not very secure, but he was pressed for time. He found himself in an odd room, sort of a combination armory and locker room. It reminded him a little of the Castle armory back in Burbank, only with fewer grenade launchers and more BO. Chuck perked his ears up, listening for any sign of Yevtushenko, but only silence save the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lightbulbs came back. Chuck scowled at a rack of pump-action shotguns, and a second with 9mm handguns. Of course, this was just a security armory. There were no tranquilizer breath-spray tubes, or tranq pistols. Everything here was designed to make people dead, it seemed. He did find and pocket a telescoping metal baton and then, after a moment, a can of pepper spray, but he needed to be quick if he was going to catch up to the bad guys and stop whatever it was they were planning, so he had to cut short his armament search.

There were only two other exits, and Chuck slipped across the room as quietly as he could. He held his breath and whipped his baton out to its full length before bursting through the first door. He gagged and nearly threw up almost immediately. Half a dozen bodies in undershirts and boxers were tied up in a pile, in what looked like a supply closet. Half of one man's throat was just completely gone, and his head lolled over to expose slashed-open muscle tissue. Chuck's eyes winced closed of their own accord as he tried to blot the images out of his brain.

He fled back into the locker room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it and gasping huge lungfuls of air in an effort to control his desire to revisit his breakfast. A strangely detached part of his brain noted from whom Yevtushenko and his buddies had gotten their TSA uniforms. The far door rattled, and Chuck's eyes widened. He couldn't go back into the room with all the bodies to hide. He didn't think his stomach would let him, and they'd hear him puking his guts out anyway.

Chuck darted back across the room and stuffed himself into one of the full length lockers. He pinched his fingers in the latch as he shut the door of the locker, and stifled a yelp just as the far door opened.

The smell reminded him of that one time in junior high when he'd been shut in a gym locker for coming to Morgan's aid. He remembered them being less cramped, but then he'd grown at least half a foot since then. Chuck snapped out of his reverie. "You're sure all of the codes have been changed? No one can get into this room?" Yevtushenko asked a smaller man with a thin goatee.

He nodded. "Yes, and all the keycards to access the Control Tower will be reset as well. Only we can move in and out. It will cause commotion in a few minutes, but by then it will be too late."

"Good. Make sure the C4 is loaded properly I don't want any accidental detonation," Yevtushenko seemed to be the ringleader, and if the bodies in the supply closet were any guide, there were only six terrorists. Six. He could handle six with the Intersect. No problem. Chuck wished he sounded more convincing in his own head. The two men each grabbed a shotgun from the rack, and left through the door Chuck hadn't gotten around to checking. Now that he was looking for it, he could see that the weapon racks were already missing a third shotgun, and half a dozen handguns. So, they'd acquired weapons on site. Another useful piece of intelligence.

The door clicked shut behind Yevtushenko and the other man, and Chuck moved. He sidled up to the door and opened it just a crack to peer out. There was a metal staircase leading down into some kind of garage, it looked like, where a few other men with guns were milling around what looked like a luggage cart loaded with bricks. Chuck's eyes widened. The C4 they'd mentioned, at least two hundred pounds of it. Chuck tensed, and then, after a moment, looked down at his hand. It wasn't shaking and his palm wasn't clammy. The calming effect of that last flash seemed to be ongoing. He _really _would have like to have known that was in the Intersect from the beginning.

Yevtushenko said something to his men in Russian, and they all gave him some variant of 'Da'. Together with 'tovarish' and 'spasiba' that about exhausted Chuck's stockpile of Russian outside of the Intersect, and he could feel the flash building. But then, one of the men spoke in a different language. Chuck blinked. He had no _idea _what language they were speaking now.

The flash gave him the second, unknown language, and Chuck understood. "My Arabic is for shit, Dmitry," one of the men complained loudly. "We really have to start now, even when is just us?" Whatever the plan was, they would speak only Arabic during the actual attack, so that any surviving witnesses would blame the entire incident on Muslim extremists.

"I don't care if you sound like a giraffe. No Russian from now on," Yevtushenko said. "You know our orders."

"I don't understand though," the same man said. "This whole job doesn't make sense. Lot of trouble to go to just for two airplanes."

"Is just paycheck," Yevtushenko said in exasperation. "Volkoff pay me to do this job, not to ask stupid questions. Ten million dollars is not enough to kill your curiosity?"

"Ten? I'm only getting four."

Yevtushenko laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "This is why boss man, he negotiates separately with each of us. You two, lift with your legs, you'll knock the bomb over!" Chuck thought again that his breathing should be ragged with shock, but that calmness flash or whatever really did a number on him. The terrorists manhandled the cart full of C4 into the back of an airport shuttle bus, and Chuck slipped down, vaulted the railing and lost himself behind a second vehicle. He peered around the hood of his cover vehicle and waited until the last of the men were getting into their transport, before slipping around in a hunched over crouch and rolling underneath.

Popular to Hollywood convention, there was nothing to grab hold of really, not easily or securely. Chuck had a brief moment of panic, thinking they would drive off, leaving him exposed, see him in the rearview mirror, turn around and blast him with shotguns. He calmed quickly, the meditation flash doing its job. That's what it was, he decided, a Zen or Buddhist meditation skill flash. Chuck whipped his belt off and looped it around his fist, poked the end around a protruding pipe, and wedged his feet into crevices. His grip wasn't great, but it would hold, he hoped.

The engine started, and the whole shuttle bus shuddered into motion. Chuck clung to the undercarriage for dear life. His shoulders started to protest almost immediately. At least this time, he was sure, things couldn't _possibly_ get worse.

* * *

Dmitry scowled through the windshield at the rain. Then with a sigh, he looked back at his men and nodded. "Masks on," he said, even though he agreed with Vitaly that switching to Arabic so early was likely overkill. But then, their escape plan was overkill as well, as was the entire operation. He shook the doubts out of his head. He had ten million reasons to ignore them, or would have, when they gave the mission complete signal and the funds were wired to his Swiss bank account.

He grabbed his shotgun and walked right up to the control tower's ground floor access doors. They weren't guarded, as the outer perimeter was deemed much too secure for this sort of an attack. Usually they were right. Ex-Spetznaz didn't usually go in for suicide missions, and if not for their employer's Gulfstream waiting to scoop them up once they finished up inside, rappelled down the outside of the control tower and set off the C4, that's exactly what this would be.

He left Vitaly and Kerensky to guard the doors, years of training insisted on it, really. Always cover your ass, always have secondary protocols. Getting shot in the back was no fun for anyone. They didn't even have to fire a shot as they took over the control tower, which was a little disappointing. He relished a good firefight, and knifing the guards for their uniforms had been astonishingly mundane. Still, at this juncture there was always the possibility that they would need hostages, so the aircraft controllers were quickly tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Dmitry personally zip-tied their hands and feet, while the others covered him.

After that, things got boring again. Tupolev got on the computers, putting the rest of the plan into action, and Dmitry sat on one of the desks, toying idly with the detonator for the luggage cart stacked with C4, their insurance and their exit strategy, all in one tidy package. They'd brought it up in the elevator, and he considered sitting on that instead, but the hostages were blindfolded, and it would only have been useful to do as intimidation.

A noise above his head startled him. Metallic, as if... impossible. Could some idiot actually be climbing around in the air ducts?

* * *

Chuck peered through the vent cover down into the main control room at the top of the tower. The bird's eye view of the impending hostage crisis really helped. Counting the two he'd subdued coming in the doors and left hogtied in the lobby, that was all six accounted for. One covering the door. One doing something with the computers, which wasn't important right now. A third peering out the huge picture window at a plane getting ready for takeoff. And the last man, Yevtushenko, playing with... holy crap? Was that a detonator? He stilled himself before he could give his position away. It looked like they were done with the computers. What could they have been doing? Oh god, he'd seen _Die Hard 2_. He knew what they were doing... They were going to crash all the planes. He moved involuntarily in shock and his breath caught in his throat at the noise that resulted, a hollow thud that sounded unmistakeably similar to the sound effect every action movie used when people were hanging around in air-ducts like Chuck was doing. He didn't move a muscle. His breathing had stopped as he waited. Maybe they hadn't heard. The fifteen minute alarm he'd set for his watch went off, electronic beep ringing in the confined space.

Chuck winced and clapped a hand over his watch. "Crap!" he had time to say, before the shooting started.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: I don't know if this is technically a cliffhanger or not. It might be more accurately described as a duct-hanger? I like made up words, give me a break.

I always appreciate your reviews, even if I don't get around to replying.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Thanks to my beta _daywalkr82_ for a quick turnaround on this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 32:

* * *

"Yob tvoyu mat!" Someone shouted, and Chuck flinched. The duct shook with the roar of gunfire, coupled with a patter like hail on a tin roof. He clapped his hands to his head and pumped his legs in fear without really knowing what he was doing, wriggling on his stomach back the way he'd come.

"No Russian!" Someone else shouted over the continuing gunfire.

Chuck rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself back against the wall that wasn't jumping from bullet impacts. He was a little surprised that he was still breathing. The air duct wasn't anywhere near tough enough to stop shotgun blasts and 9mm pistol rounds, unless the walls were reinforced concrete. He doubted that was the case, and marveled at his continued survival. Chuck froze as the gunfire petered out. They must have run their clips dry. He rose up onto his elbows to try to peer out again, but slowly. He remembered where the terrorists had stolen their guns, and figured the TSA followed Air Marshal rules in regard to firearms, with only subsonic, low-penetration rounds so that they didn't risk penetrating the skin of any of the aircraft.

He could just hear the sound of the gunmen clicking their guns as they reloaded, and sank back down, plugging his ears in preparation for the second volley. The duct rang with the impacts and now the wall had begun to deform slightly, bulging inward. Apparently, his good luck wouldn't last forever. He needed to come up with some sort of plan in the next few seconds. One of the men shouted in Russian again, and the gunfire subsided after a few seconds. They had obviously run out of bullets again.

Chuck figured it was now or never and grabbed the grating to tug himself out. The entire duct shuddered with the sudden movement, and Chuck froze. "Oh, crap," he breathed, freezing in place, but it was no use; the duct lurched down and to the left with a shriek of protesting metal. The floor fell out from under him. All that gunfire, as ineffectual as it had been in breaching the duct itself, must have weakened the supports keeping it up and attached to the wall or ceiling or whatever. Chuck wasn't a structural engineer, but he knew these ducts weren't exactly designed for nearly two hundred pounds of ersatz secret agent to go cruising around in them. "Crap sandwich!" He shouted as the unseen supports gave way. He heard metal snap and the duct tilted crazily. There was a meaty thud, and Chuck tumbled out one end of the wildly swinging duct.

He managed to get his hands out in front of him, and the one bit of muscle-memory his training in Prague had drilled into him resurfaced. He rolled with the impact, taking in the sudden bedlam in the control tower as he got his feet under him. The swinging duct had knocked one of the terrorists senseless and slapped the shotgun out of his hands and into a long looping arc. Chuck caught it as if that had been the plan all along.

In the brief moment of shock that gripped the three remaining hostage-takers, Chuck spun his captured shotgun and turned, whipping the butt around like a baseball bat and cracking the closest terrorist in the hands. The man dropped his shotgun, and Chuck belted him one in the face, just to be safe. Across the room ,Yevtushenko, the ringleader, was reloading his 9mm pistol. Chuck threw the shotgun at him, tumbling end over end to crack him in the chin. The 9mm tumbled across the carpet and Yevtushenko cursed in Russian.

The fourth man charged straight for Chuck, his gun abandoned, and a wicked-looking, serrated combat knife clenched in his hand. "Crap," Chuck said and fumbled out the telescoping baton he'd snitched from the locker-room just in time to parry the first knife thrust. He leaped backward, sucking his stomach in to avoid getting his belly sliced by the man's follow up, a backhand swipe. The terrorist kept advancing, and Chuck kept jumping back. The Russian was obviously an experienced knife-fighter; he didn't lead with his knife hand and leave Chuck an opening to take the knife away from him like in every martial arts movie ever made. It was a slow, methodical advance, using his off-hand in tandem, trying to tangle him up and leave an opening to stab Chuck's vitally-soft squishy bits. The only chance Chuck had to stop him was either to force a flash, iffy in close combat—he might get stabbed in the brisket before he could come out of the flash—or use his baton's better reach.

Chuck took an extra jump backward, nearly tripped over a deskchair, and feinted low, as if he was trying a sweep. The knife-man hesitated, breaking his forward progress, and leaving Chuck the opening he needed. The steel baton swept across and neatly whapped the back of the terrorist's hand like a teacher with a ruler. He dropped the knife, and Chuck's backhand cracked off his skull with a metallic 'ping.'

His opponent fell to the carpeting like a sack of potatoes, and Chuck started to breathe a sigh of relief when he remembered Yevtushenko. The terrorist leader had a tiny black plastic doohickey in one hand. A detonator.

"Yob tvoyu mat," the man said again. Chuck was pretty sure it wasn't a nice thing to say. Chuck threw his baton and charged. Yevtushenko managed to turn into the projectile and deflect most of the impact, but Chuck was there a second later, pawing for the detonator.

"Please-don't-go-off-please-don't-go-off," Chuck mumbled his new mantra constantly under his breath as they wrestled for the detonator. His fingers clamped on the ringleader's wrist, and they staggered back against a bank of monitors. Chuck slammed Yevtushenko's wrist down on a nearby desk and the detonator popped out of his hand. The terrorist growled another curse in Russian and hit Chuck in the cheek with a palm strike.

Chuck stumbled back a step before he could recover; by the time he had his bearings back, Yevtushenko had a knife in his hand. Chuck glanced helplessly at his own empty hands, and the flash staggered him back another step.

He was back at square one; unarmed against an armed opponent is never an ideal circumstance, even when you know, in this instance, Thai kickboxing.

Yevtushenko said something in Russian, and Chuck flashed again, cramming the Russian language into his head alongside the martial arts. "Pick it up," the terrorist said, kicking his unconscious comrade's knife over to Chuck.

"What? Why?" Chuck found himself asking in Russian.

"Is no fun killing unarmed men," Yevtushenko shrugged. "I like a challenge."

"Remember you said that later," Chuck growled and dove for the knife. The terrorist lunged at the same moment, and Chuck's hand wrapped around the matte black handle of the fallen knife, but he flexed both arms, turning and supporting his weight for a moment, as he swung his legs around,one of his sneakers taking Yevtushenko in the stomach.

The Russian cursed again, the wind blasting from his lungs. Chuck rolled back to his feet, holding the knife awkwardly, almost daintily. The terrorist ringleader shook his head in derision, and one foot whipped out, slapping Chuck's knife out of his hand. He lunged again, and Chuck just managed to catch the man's wrist. They fell into a clinch, the knife poised a foot from Chuck's heart. Their forearms were locked and though the Russian was shorter, he was bigger, stockier through the chest, and pushed the knife forward an inch, then another. They shifted position, Chuck struggling to find a good angle against the stronger man. The razor sharp blade slipped easily through Chuck's coatsleeve and he grit his teeth in pain as it sliced with horrible slowness across his forearm. The point ended up an inch closer to Chuck's heart anyway.

Chuck grunted, pushing forward with all his weight. Maybe his greater height would give him some leverage, let him keep the knife back. Or maybe he just needed to put the man off guard. Talk to him. "You know," he said as a beginning, "under normal circumstances I'd be scared out of my mind, what with the knife and all. I really don't like knives. Needles are worse, but knives are kind of scary, too..."

The Russian sneered and pushed the tip of his blade an inch closer to Chuck's heart. "Coward..." he spat.

Chuck grunted with the effort of keeping equilibrium in regard to the knife point bare inches from his chest. His opponent tried for a trip and Chuck backpedaled. The shuffle of his feet somehow let him push the knife back half a foot. That was plenty. "Normal circumstances, maybe," Chuck said, still in Russian. "But you're going to make me late for my _honeymoon_. And that just makes me cranky. And you wouldn't like me when I'm cranky." The terrorist's eyes widened for a fraction of a second at this revelation, and Chuck moved. He released Yevtushenko's wrist with his left hand and grabbed the man's TSA uniform shirt, yanking him forward.

Chuck head-butted him, and the Russian's eyes crossed. Chuck shifted his grip, using both hands to twist the man's knife hand out to the side. He slammed his opponent's wrist with his knee, sending the knife flying at the same time that he dug in his coat pocket left-handed.

He came out with the pepper spray he'd palmed earlier and thrust the nozzle right into Yevtushenko's face, letting fly from six inches away. "Yaaaa!" Chuck shouted, shielding his eyes from the back-spatter with his other hand.

The terrorist ringleader staggered away, falling to his hands and knees. Chuck pursued, emptying the entire canister of chemical irritant into the man's face, despite his attempts to shield himself.

Chuck realized his mistake in time. Yevtushenko wasn't just running; he was feeling around on the carpet for his dropped detonator. Chuck blinked and tossed aside the empty pepper-spray canister before seizing one of the man's boots and dragging him back. Yevtushenko's fingers hit the carpet less than a foot from the fallen detonator.

The big man whirled, trying to swipe at Chuck blindly despite the redness and swelling in his face. Somehow, the man lurched back to his feet, and Chuck winced through a brief moment of panic. What did it _take? _He backed away a step and let the Muay Thai he'd flashed on earlier sweep back over him. Chuck batted away the man's tentative grab and seized him by the hair, yanking Yevtushenko's head downward so that his chin met Chuck's up-thrusting knee at a textbook-perfect angle. The last terrorist flopped bonelessly onto his back and didn't move. Chuck's breath rasped in his throat and he clutched his sliced forearm.

"Ow," he said. Hardly a proper terrorist-stopping one-liner, but Chuck just wasn't in the mood to be funny. The big Russian looked like he wasn't breathing, and Chuck felt a lurch of nausea as he checked for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered the man's heart was still beating.

Still favoring his right arm, he searched Yevtushenko and came up with a handful of zip-tie cuffs, which he lashed into place on each of the men who had tried to seize the O'Hare control tower.

Finally finished, he sat on the back of one unconscious terrorist for a moment, catching his breath. Of course, then the computers started screeching an automated alarm. The nearest Air Traffic Controller fought against his bonds, trying to wriggle over to the computers. He'd managed to shrugg off his blindfold at some point. Chuck cast around with his eyes until he spotted the knife with which Yevtushenko had nearly spitted him. He hauled himself to his feet and jogged across the room, retrieved the knife and rounded on the wriggling Controller. The man winced away from the knife.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Relax. I'm the good guys," he said, rolling the man onto his stomach so he could slice the zip ties holding his hands and feet together.

The air traffic controller tore the gag from his mouth. "I should hope so, the way you took those guys out. What are you, CIA, FBI?"

Chuck shrugged and tapped his nose. "Got it in one."

"Can you tell me that?" the man quipped. "Do you have to kill me now?"

"Like that's the first time I've heard that one. I think we've got bigger problems," Chuck laughed. "What's going on with the alarm bells?"

"Crap!" he said and darted over to the bank of computers. "Get to work freeing the others, CIA. We've got a cluster forming."

"A what?" Chuck frowned.

"Half a dozen planes are on collision courses, and they're so close together, if the pilots see that and try to self-correct, they might just run into _other _planes. It's a mess up there; I need help getting them back in a holding pattern."

"Do you think you can do it on your own?" Chuck said. "I don't know if I feel comfortable letting everybody else loose."

"What?" the air traffic controller shot over his shoulder. "Seriously, why not?"

"Well," Chuck said, drawing out the word. "I mean strictly from a semantics perspective, uh... yeash, I might technically be best described as a... rogue CIA agent. Or rougue-ish, you know?"

"A..." the man said, loosening his collar, "A rogue agent? You're not going to kill me are you?"

"Of course not, but..." Chuck said. "If I let the rest of your co-workers loose, making my escape becomes all but impossible, and I don't know that my wife would show the same restraint, so, I mean... if you can't manage on your own, you can't manage on your own. I'm not a monster. I'll get you all the help you need, just... there could be consequences for me personally is what I'm saying, and you'd be doing me a huge favor."

"Oh," he said. "Huh, well, we do owe you big time, I guess that makes us even. Let me see what I can do." The reassuring sound of keys clicking filled the control room and Chuck winced. His forearm was throbbing.

"Do you have a first aid kit?"

The controller nodded absently. "Bathroom, under the sink, second door on the left."

Chuck went forth and found the kit with little trouble. He slipped out of his coat and rolled up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. The gash in his arm wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting, and Chuck pressed a wad of gauze against the wound experimentally. It sopped up the blood but didn't soak through immediately. He pressed harder, and after a few seconds, changed to a new piece. It looked like the bleeding was stopping, or at least slowing on its own, so he probably wouldn't need stitches. Chuck wrapped his arm securely, using up most of the gauze, and cut the bloodied section of the sleeve away with his borrowed combat knife.

Folding it up around his elbow made the sleeve look at least marginally as if it was whole, and he shrugged back into his coat. There wasn't much blood on the dark cotton of his coat, and he wiped most of it with a paper towel. He was a little light-headed from the sight of so much of his own blood on the outside instead of safely inside his skin, but Chuck slapped himself in the cheek with his left hand to get his focus back, and returned to the control room. "Any luck..."

"Dave," the controller offered. "And no, they did something to the access controls. I can only talk to about half the planes up there. I got most of the collisions averted. But there are these two 747s that are on head-on paths. That had to have been deliberate. I'm completely locked out of their frequencies, and they're in the cloudbank. I'm getting weird interference on the transponders too, maybe some kind of jamming. I have no idea how to fix it."

Chuck frowned. "Why would they lock out those specific frequencies?"

"How am _I _supposed to know that?" Dave complained. "They were speaking some foreign language."

"Arabic," Chuck offered.

"They don't look Arab..." Dave muttered, only glancing away from his screen momentarily.

Chuck righted a fallen desk chair, plopped himself down in it and wheeled his way over to Dave. "That's because they're Russians trying to blame this on religious nutjob terrorists."

"Why would they do that?"

Chuck shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe some kind of power play? Maybe they want to piss off the American populace and kick-start support for the war?"

"That doesn't make any sense, Agent..."

Chuck blinked. He almost said Carmichael, but that would be a dead giveaway. "Grimes," he said. Not that that was any better than Carmichael; in fact now that he was at the center of a terrorist attack, for Casey it was like a neon sign saying Chuck Bartowski was here. Still, his plane was probably still on the ground somewhere... so he could make himself scarce. A plan was forming, but first things first. "Anyway, whatever their plan is, or was, motivation is irrelevant. We need to stop those planes colliding."

"What do you think I've been doing while you were putting a band-aid on your boo-boo?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. Scoot over, let me see what we're working with."

"Hey, don't touch that. You haven't been trained."

Chuck grunted. "Trust me. I used to work in the Nerd Herd."

Dave blinked in shock. "This is supposed to make me less nervous? I remember what kind of people work in the Nerd Herd."

Chuck shrugged self-consciously, loading up a DOS prompt on a nearby monitor to figure out what the terrorists had done. "Whatever. I was the supervisor. Let me just see whats going on... can you tell me how much time I've got before those planes hit each other?"

"I don't know. Call it five minutes, give or take."

Chuck blew all the air out of his lungs in a heartfelt sigh. No pressure. He shook his head. "That's just great. I don't have time to brute force the Superuser's password. You know the guy who set all this up?"

"Not really, why?"

Chuck sighed again. "I was hoping you might be able to guess his password. How long does the system take to boot up from a hard reset?"

"Ten minutes, by the checklist."

"Perfect," Chuck grated and typed away futilely. He tried a couple of shortcuts, wrote some code that might help... and then abandoned it. He didn't have the fifteen minutes it would take him to finish a script that would give him back total control. It was hopeless. Something beeped from the far side of the room.

"Did you hear that?" Dave asked, but Chuck was already out of his seat and loping across to the baggage cart full of C4. He lifted the tarp and blanched bone white. "What is it?"

"How much time before those planes hit?"

Dave frowned and glanced at his monitor, then at his watch. "Uh... call it three minutes forty-five. Why?"

"The C4 goes off in _four_ minutes."

"The what does _what?_"

Chuck scratched his head. "That doesn't make sense though. He never got his hands back on the detonator... it must be some kind of fail-safe, or maybe they were already on a tight timeline... Stay on the mic Dave; see if you can get through to the planes."

"We have to get out of here!"

"The timer's linked to those two planes somehow."

"What are you talking about! We have to leave. This place is going to blow up!"

"Dave calm down. Screaming about it isn't helping. You're wasting time," Chuck said. "And I think I've got an idea."

"Oh great. Crazy CIA Guy 'might' have an idea," Dave fumed. "That's the best you've got?"

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "I also have these needlenose pliers I found in the first aid kit," he said, "What's that about anyway?"

Dave shrugged absently and scratched his beard, fiddling with his keyboard and shouting out a stream of letters and numbers, what Chuck assumed must be some kind of identification number for one of the planes still in jeopardy. Chuck couldn't see how they could have done such a quick job just via a software hack. There were no recent changes to the registry, one of the few searches he'd been able to run, so maybe it wasn't a software issue at all.

Chuck shrugged out of his coat and brandished his needlenose pliers. "Uhm... you wouldn't happen to have a Phillips-head screwdriver? Dave pawed open a desk drawer and thrust a toolkit in his direction without interrupting his attempts to contact the two planes. Chuck could see their radar plots growing slowly, inexorably closer to each other, even without training on the system. The beeping from the luggage cart full of C4 was just barely out of synch with the sweep of the tower's radar dish. The arrhythmia would probably drive him crazy in five minutes. On the bright side, they'd all be blown up in _three_ minutes if he was wrong.

Wait, that was the _bright _side? Chuck shook himself into action, sliding around behind and under the desk and putting his newly acquired screwdriver to good use. He had the first panel off in maybe thirty seconds. Not fast enough. And there was nothing out of the ordinary inside the computer.

Dave broke away from his litany long enough to peer down at Chuck. "You got three minutes flat."

"Thanks. I'm working as fast as I can," Chuck grumbled, and started attacking the next closest panel. "Any idea which terminal they were mucking around with?"

"I was _blindfolded _the whole time, remember?" Dave shouted back.  
Chuck grunted, and worked faster. Sweat oozed out of every pore in his body. Nothing in the second terminal. He blinked sweat out of his eyes. There had to be some way to narrow down the search. This was getting him nowhere. He wracked his brain as he started on the next panel, and grunted in pain, shuffling back. He'd landed on something with his left knee, something pointy and sharp. Chuck frowned. It was a shiny black screw, like the ones he'd been taking out of the panels. He patted the shirt pocket where he'd been dumping the screws he removed, dipped in and pulled them out into the palm of his hand. He held the screw that had stabbed him in one hand, and the rest in his other and counted. Eight, and one orphan. He hadn't had time to get any of the screws free of the third panel. Which meant... "Dave! Time?"

"One forty five! You figure it out?"

"Maybe," Chuck said, "Get down here and search for a panel with a screw missing. I need an extra set of eyes." Chuck himself was already shuffling down the line, peering at the access panels.

"I swear to God, if you get me killed I'll strangle you."

Chuck snorted at the impossibility, but didn't spare the time it would take to explain how difficult he might find it to follow through on the threat. His eyes latched onto a panel missing one of its screws. "Yahtzee," he whispered and nearly dropped the screwdriver in his haste to get the panel off. "How we doing on time?"

"Ninety seconds," Dave said.

"Plenty of time," Chuck said, trying to convince himself as he spun the screws out of their threads and let them drop to the carpet. There was no time anymore for neatness. "Come on, come on... gotcha..."

"You found it?"

"Yes... looks like a timer and some kind of electrical interrupt... to stop your equipment from sending on the frequencies the planes are using."

"Well yank the thing out! I'll need thirty seconds to get the planes moving. These are jumbo jets, not Piper cubs."

"I can't... I think the guy who rigged the bomb put a trembler switch in here."

"A what?"

"If I just 'yank the thing,' it'll probably blow the C4 and kill us all."

"What an asshole!"

"That's why they're called terrorists, and not 'super happy fun-time guys'," Chuck said just before the flash shuddered through him.

"Lord, give me strength," Dave said, hunkering down to look over Chuck's shoulder. "Do you have _any idea _what you're doing?"

"Of course," Chuck said brightly. "I just have to cut either the red wire or the green wire, but I don't know which. We got a fifty-fifty chance."

"You're joking!"

Chuck grinned. "Yes. I am joking. It's the green wire," he said, shoving his needlenose pliers in so that the wire-cutters built into the side came into play, and snipped. "I think," Chuck said and screwed his eyes shut tight in futile defense.

"You _think?_" Dave shouted.

After several seconds, Chuck squinted at the older man out of one eye. "We're still breathing, Dave. You want to get on the radio to those planes now?"

"I— hate you so much..."

Chuck grinned. "I've been getting that a lot recently," he said with a shrug. Dave stuck his head back over the desk and grabbed the microphone.

"465 heavy this is O'Hare Tower. I need you to come right to heading 330 and descend to 10,000 feet. Repeat 330 and 10,000 feet. Comply immediately." He held his breath.

"Roger that, Tower," the pilot's voice crackled. "Good to hear from you. It's been awhile."

"I'll explain later 465 heavy," Dave replied and switched frequencies. "326 heavy this is O'Hare Tower..." Chuck stopped paying attention. Crisis averted. He slumped to the carpet and felt his sweat soak out into the fibers. Sweat-staining the control tower carpet wasn't high on his list of worries. His brain shifted gears, and after a blissful moment of rest, catching his breath for what seemed like the first time in a week, he sat up.

"Dave... buddy..." Chuck started, still flat on his back.

Dave glared down at him. "What now?"

Chuck shrugged sheepishly. "Uh... you mind helping make sure I make my flight? Hold the flight until I'm on it, and let us leave before you... call this in? Or whatever the protocol is?"

Dave's eyebrows shot up. "Do what?"

"They're going to ground all the flights out of Chicago in response to this, right?"

"Yeah, for a few hours at the very least. Maybe a couple days."

"And I'm going to get stuck here," Chuck explained. "And the NSA is going to arrest me. And then my wife is going to end up killing or maiming a lot of federal agents when she finds out I've been arrested."

Dave looked at him like he was crazy. "You make her sound a little... scary..."

Chuck shrugged. "We're supposed to be on our honeymoon right now... so..." Chuck trailed off, and Dave arched an incredulous eyebrow. "Yeah... I'd kind of prefer we don't have to spend the first years of our marriage in federal prison." He tried his best grin, the one he was pretty sure made Sarah weak at the knees. It didn't seem to have the same effect on Dave the air traffic controller.

Dave shook his head in exasperation, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. This was against just about every regulation the FAA had. "What flight are you on?" His voice was resigned.

Chuck brightened, and told him. This might just work out yet.

* * *

Elizabeth Norris rolled her neck in a slow circle, trying to get rid of the crick in her neck from her latest several-hours-long bus ride. She kept it up for most of the flight, with little effect. Leaving the airport in Butte, Montana, she became Loretta Newburg and rented a car. Two miles outside of town she ditched her Elizabeth Norris papers and parked her rental car at a Super 8 motel, and rented a room. She paid in advance for one night, and went directly upstairs. She only stayed long enough to dye her hair away from the stark black she had adopted, blow dry it, and remove the chin and cheek implants that had begun to itch a day earlier.

Looking in the mirror, she grinned. It was good to be Sarah again, even with red hair, she decided, and called a cab to take her out to the local municipal airport. They stopped her cab at a little guard shack, and Sarah Murtaugh leaned out the window, showing off her identification. "Sarah Murtaugh," she explained. "I'm here to see Mr. Cottle about buying his Corvair? I was told he'd be expecting me."

The security guard barely glanced at her license, just long enough to match up the flame red hair in the picture to Sarah's newly dyed locks, grunted, and waved them through. It was almost too easy, from there. The sale had been arranged weeks ago, and really this meeting was just for her to kick the tires, check the fuel pumps, the kind of nuts and bolts of purchasing an aircraft that just couldn't be done over email, even heavily encrypted and thoroughly anonymized email.

After a brief bout of unexpected haggling before closing the sale, she wasn't exactly feeling chipper anymore, though she _had_ managed to sleep a little on her long flight: Florida back all the way back across the country to someplace in Oregon whose name she'd forgotten as soon as she started her drive to that last plane into Montana. Still, her eyes threatened to go out of focus while she was filling out her flight plan once she took ownership of her new single-engine four-seater. Sarah took a catnap on a fairly uncomfortable row of faux-leather-upholstered chairs welded together to make a waiting area. Feeling refreshed, she marched out onto the tarmac, found her plane and started running through her checklist.

She couldn't banish the goofy grin from her face. Just a few hours now, and she'd be landing at the Cottonwood Municipal Airport, and from there, the house in Clarkdale was a bare twenty miles away. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel now, and nothing was going to get in her way.

"Mrs. Murtaugh!" some absolute bastard shouted, coming across the tarmac waving a sheaf of papers over his head. Sarah groaned and stepped down from the wing, her hand darting into her flight bag for her sidearm. It wasn't the same one she'd started her journey with, but rather a spare that had been stashed and waiting for her for two months. All the commercial flying she'd had to do had made it impractical to hang onto the gun with which she'd protected Chuck for all those months. It had developed a sentimental value, but only in relation to Chuck, and so, leaving it behind hadn't been difficult. It was the same model though, her trusty S&W.

"Yes? What's wrong?" Sarah tried to mask her annoyance, and if this idiot tried to stop her taking off, she had few compunctions about shooting him and just taking off anyway. She could fly below the radar most of the way, land somewhere out in the desert, alter the tail number and... She shook contingency plan Rho-6 out of her head to pay attention to the man's explanation for delaying her reunion with her Chuck.

"You forgot to sign your flight plan," the man insisted. Sarah realized that he was wearing a nametag, and vaguely remembered the man trying to flirt with her while she was checking the meteorological services so she could plot her course around that thunderstorm developing over northern Arizona. The man had mostly blended into the scenery before this incident, and she realized just how exhausted she was getting if she couldn't remember to take a mental snapshot of everyone she met, as her training dictated.

Sarah grabbed the form and signed brusquely. She blinked, and her hand quivered. Sarah took a breath and changed the downward slash that began the 'B' in Bartowski, into the first vertical in the 'M' for her new cover identity, and finished signing Murtaugh. As much as she might prefer to be Sarah Bartowski, to the world at large, she needed to get used to signing her name Murtaugh. It just felt so _wrong, _though, since she'd only ever gotten to sign her proper legal name on the marriage license and that letter to Ellie.

She shook her head ruefully as she clambered back into the cockpit, and glared daggers at the airport manager when she caught him staring at her butt. Was it her fault she had to bend over like that to get behind the controls? No! Why couldn't he keep his eyes to himself? Sarah grunted, pulled on her radio headset and snapped the canopy closed. She never used to get so angry at men just for _look_ing, but she was so close to some long overdue Chucking, that she was looking at any disruption or distraction as she sometimes had to on missions. Obstacles to be eliminated, with extreme prejudice. She was faintly horrified at herself for reaching for her sidearm, but rationalized it away. Sarah hadn't really been planning to use it. Not... _really._

She took a calming breath, finished her safety checklist, and keyed her mic to inform the tower she was ready for takeoff.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Your reviews keep me warm at night, while I work tirelessly to get more chapters finished, toiling endlessly amid my own filth, with no respite but your comments.

Okay, so that was a _touch _melodramatic, but the point remains sound: I like getting reviews. If you've got the time, hit that little button and tell me what you thought.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Here's the chapter a lot of you have been clamoring for in your reviews, almost since the beginning of this story. It's pretty much been finished since then as well, just with a few minor tweaks, and of course my beta _daywalkr82's _eagle eye for grammar and punctuation errors.

* * *

Chapter 33:

* * *

Chuck found the house eventually. The drive from Phoenix to Clarkdale was brutal, especially with the little sleep he'd been able to grab on the planes. Most of his flights after his escape from O'Hare had been short, and at most, he'd managed to snooze for half an hour before the stewardesses came by to make him put his chair back up. The scenery was nice, though, and driving through winding mountain passes as he approached the higher parts of the Sonoras was probably the only thing keeping him from ending up with his latest rental car in a ditch, or worse, a gully or canyon.

The sun was just setting over the mountains to the north west as he drove up, and he missed the house the first time. He made a circle around the block, only to miss it again. After the second time, he stopped and turned around in an empty driveway halfway down the block, and finally found the place on the way back: 1236 Main Street, Clarkdale, Arizona. The town was tiny, and Chuck got an odd thrill from driving down an actual 'Main street.' The place Sarah had bought was a sprawling ranch style house with the hide-a-key right where his instructions said it would be, and the front door opened easily, only sticking a little from lack of use. He remembered to put the rental car in the garage; having it parked out front could be bad on the off chance the NSA had tracked him as far as Phoenix.

He checked his phone for texts, realizing he hadn't turned his burner back on after landing in Phoenix, but there was only one new message from Sarah.

_**Don't forget to ditch jowls and wig.**_

Chuck grinned and of course, finally remembered to peel off his second latex face-mask disguise, and tug off over his head the oversized-padded shirt that had been waiting for him in a Seattle bus locker. The wig had been the final touch on the identity of Elvis Markham, Chuck's seventh identity since leaving Chicago, who had driven the rental car to the Murtaugh residence. Chuck would have to wear the shoulder length blond wig, fake paunch and jowls again to return the rental, but he didn't have to do that for a week or more. Sarah would be around to help put the makeup on him, which was a relief. Her instructions in the packet had been clear, simple and straightforward, of course, but he'd prefer to let her mess around his face with spirit gum and stage makeup than have to do it himself with a tiny mirror in a stall in a bus terminal bathroom.

Aside from a built-in entertainment center in the living room, missing a TV, the place was completely empty. Chuck made a circuit of the empty rooms, checking drawers, cabinets and counter spaces, looking for some hint as to what he was supposed to do next. His four days in transit had been hectic, barely leaving him time to eat, much less sleep, and he didn't want to sleep on the floor in his clothes, if he could avoid it, but he was about dead on his feet. The last door he found was the linen closet, which held a pair of sleeping bags and a full set of sheets and pillowcases, but that was all. No pillows, so he stuffed the paunchy shirt in one of the pillowcases.

He only paused long enough to splash some water on his face, and scrub the residue of the adhesive off his cheeks before shouldering the sleeping bags. Chuck lugged everything back into the living room and set himself up a pallet, got undressed, and collapsed.

* * *

When Sarah got there a few hours later, she immediately darted into the master bedroom, hoping to surprise Chuck and... it was empty. What the hell? Not just absent of Chuck, but deserted. There was no furniture, just bare carpet. This house was supposed to be fully furnished. And where the hell was Chuck? Sarah grabbed her S&W from her purse and ran a sweep, checking doors and windows, tensed and ready to kill, if there were agents hiding somewhere with Chuck hostage. And then, her sweep took her into the living room and she found him, curled up in a sleeping bag in front of the cold and empty fireplace.

Sarah smiled slowly and flicked the safety back on, creeping up on Chuck. She sat down next to him, putting her hands to either side of his face and staring at him. It had only been four days, but it had felt like a lifetime. And it had been: ten lifetimes in fact. She'd gone through ten cover identities on the way, before settling into her Sarah Murtaugh identity for the last leg, flying herself the last little bit. The day after Chuck had uploaded the new intersect, she'd started the process of bringing Chuck and Sarah Murtaugh to life, getting Sara Murtaugh her pilot's license; it was one of those documents that couldn't be forged easily, and she couldn't risk going through CIA protocols for identification, not with Chuck's safety and security at stake.

After Prague and Lisbon, she'd used the time off grid to get 'Sarah' current on the Cessna, and now, she'd finally got to fly the thing. Renting hangar space at the municipal airport in Cottonwood, twenty miles away was going to leave a bit of a paper trail, but it had mostly been done on her 'Smurtaugh' gmail account, so things should be secure on that front.

Sarah grunted sourly. She definitely shouldn't have been preoccupied with the plane right then, not when Chuck was lying just in front of her, sprawled out on the floor, no surveillance and no cover to worry about and, god, it had been _forever_ since she'd gotten laid. "Mmm..." She growled, fighting with every fiber of her being not to wake him up and force him to make love to her for the first time when he was so obviously exhausted. Sarah had no doubts, as long as she'd gone without, and from prior experience with Chuck's idea of reciprocation, that Chuck would get the job done at least once, and then she'd likely lapse into unconsciousness herself, but she knew he'd feel insecure about it after, if he didn't put forth his best effort. She felt her stomach flutter at the thought of what his best would likely do to her, as keyed up as she was, and had to stifle another groan.

Resolving not to wake him up, Sarah unzipped the bag partially and slid herself in fully clothed beside him. She realized halfway in that she had forgotten to take off her makeup or brush her teeth since the day before. She'd stopped in Portland halfway through her trek to scrub her armpits and her face. It was awkward, but she thought she could slip back out and make it to the master bath if—

"Hey." Chuck said, yawning, then he really saw her and his face lit up, and he grinned. "Hey."

Sarah laughed. "Hey yourself."

"We made it Mrs. Bartowski." Chuck said and pulled her down for a kiss. He broke away after just a moment, snuggling into her neck. "God, it feels good to say that." He breathed in her scent. "God, you smell good," He said as he nibbled her ear. Sarah shivered. "But you changed your hair. Why are you a redhead?"

"I smell good?" Sarah said, incredulously. She sniffed herself, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I smell like BO and bad airline food." Chuck kissed her, and she wasn't thinking about BO. But now that she'd mentioned it, she found herself wondering if Chuck had managed to shower in preparation, and she couldn't resist breaking the kiss so she could go in for a smell just like he had. "Mmm..." she said, "You smell good, too."

"We need to get you to a hospital," Chuck said. "There's something seriously wrong with you, if you think I smell good right now. I smell like Chili-cheese Fritos that have gone rancid."

"Don't care." Sarah pressed her breasts into his chest and kissed him soundly, slipping her tongue out and across his lips until he opened his mouth for her. She groaned into his mouth, and pulled away in spite of herself. She didn't want to push him, if he was too tired, but God, did she _want him_. "Chuck... Do you think..." She managed to get out before his lips found hers again. "Mmm," she moaned and pulled away. Chuck growled something incoherent and lunged forward to taste her again. In between kisses that warmed and tightened her belly, Sarah managed to get out. "Chuck, ah... are you... feeling... up to... dammit, Chuck!" She pushed herself up and away, out to arms length, pinning him down with both hands. "I don't want our first time to be when we're both all gross and exhausted from three days flying around the country. I want it to be... perfect."

"I don't need perfect. I just need you, Sarah. You're perfect, sweaty and gross and bad breath and all."

"Bad breath?" She glared down at him. "Do you just _never _want to make love to me, is that it? Because that is the lamest excuse I ever heard. And I brushed _my _teeth yesterday, buster, but you don't see me complaining."

"Okay, I'm more worried about my breath." Chuck said, "I was so tired that I just collapsed."

"Don't worry about it." Sarah said. "Wait, was?" She grinned. "Can I take that to mean you're feeling refreshed from your little nap?" Chuck slid his hands down to her waist and dragged her over, Sarah slid a leg over his chest, so she could straddle him, and she instantly felt it. "Oh, I guess so."

"It's a semi-permanent condition around you, or chronic, at least." Chuck shivered as Sarah ground her hips against him. But if _you're_ too tired... I'll be ready anytime you are."

"Make love to me right this minute or lose me forever." Sarah growled, her face inches from his.

"No foreplay?" Chuck grinned, baring his teeth.

Sarah growled deep in her throat, guttural and animalistic, teeth bared in a snarl. Her eyes trapped his, and Chuck swallowed nervously. "Come _on..._" She said, shaking her head slowly, but her eyes never leaving his. Sarah glanced at her watch, only breaking eye contact momentarily. "Fifty seconds."

"Sarah, you know I don't work well under pressure."

Her hands slipped down his chest, and tore open his jeans. She grinned appreciatively when her fingers found the bulge he made in his boxers. "Li'l chuck disagrees."

"I try not to let him do much of the thinking."

Sarah growled again, sliding her fingers down the length of him and lunging downward to capture his lips with hers. He shuddered and squirmed under her, lighting fires in her that demanding quenching. She pulled away with a moan, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. "Start," she said, eyes crackling with promise.

He grabbed her around the waist flipped her onto her back, and started tugging her pants down.

"Ah, wait," she said against his mouth. "Wait a sec..."

Chuck pulled away, more confused than ever. "This from the woman who just gave me a time-based ultimatum?"

Sarah blushed, and Chuck kissed the red blot on her cheek. She grabbed a handful of his hair to keep him at bay. "I just... go slowly to start out. It's been a while."

"Roger that, baby," Chuck said, and redoubled his efforts to peel her out of her clothes.

* * *

"Look at that," Sarah said happily after the second, more physical round.

Chuck laughed. "You kidding? I can't take my eyes off it."

Sarah smacked him playfully and shifted her hand to cover her core, blushing a perfect shade of rose. "Not that." She said, pointing to her knees, and then rolling slightly to point at her backside as well. "You gave me rugburn. And _bad _rugburn, at that."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to apologize. You were obviously enjoying yourself at the time."

Sarah groaned happily. "You bet I was," then, she cocked her head to one side, grinning. "And I think you just inadvertently apologized in your not-apologizing speech."

"No, no, I know what I'm doing. I was apologizing for not apologizing for giving you rugburn."

"Chuck, I wasn't complaining. It was more of a 'hey, nice work' comment than anything." Sarah smirked, rolling onto her back and snaking a foot around to nudge him to roll closer onto her. "C'mon, I wanna go again."

"We need to shower first; we already got the sleeping bag all... sweaty... we don't need to do the same to the carpets."

"Mmm..." Sarah said, crawling on top of him. "Don't care." Her expression shifted quickly from moony to sharp and alert. "What the hell?" she growled, seizing his arm and hauling him closer.

"Hey, ow," Chuck complained.

"Why is there a _bandag_e on your _arm, _Chuck?" Sarah demanded, eyes boring a hole in him. The concern and worry and hurt in her expression wounded him.

"Look, it's nothing," Chuck said reassuringly, looping his free arm around her back and holding her close. "It's just— there was some trouble in Chicago."

Sarah's eyes widened. "I heard about that on the radio! Crap, that was you? I should have put that together, but I kind of lost track of where you were in your timeline. What happened?"

Chuck shrugged. "It's no big deal, really."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and glared at him through a wisp of reddish hair falling across her face. "Liar," she said and started unwrapping the bandage to get a better look at his arm. "How did I miss this before?" Sarah growled, upset with herself.

"Well, to be fair, I was doing my best to keep you distracted and compliant."

Sarah's eyes went foggy for a moment, remembering. "Hey, no changing the subject," she said, hefting his wounded arm. "'Splain."

Chuck sighed. "Okay, okay, I flashed on this guy back in Chicago. They were trying to pull a Die Hard 2 on the airport, and I stopped them. Then, I managed to talk the air traffic controller into helping me make my flight before he reported the attack."

"Pull a what?" Sarah frowned.

Chuck's eyebrows rose. "It's a movie. Bad guys took over the airport, crashing planes and stuff," he explained. "There was C4 and knife fights involved, but I'm fine. I promise!"

Sarah pouted for a moment. Eventually, she tapped his arm. "We need to put fresh wraps on this, but I don't know if there's a first aid kit in the house," she grumbled. "There's supposed to be, but... there's also supposed to be a king-size bed with satin sheets in the master bedroom, and you saw how that worked out."

"It'll keep," Chuck said. "We can go in the morning, pick up anything we need."

Sarah jutted out her lower lip, which had the inevitable effect of drawing Chuck forward to kiss her. Resistance was futile. The third time was slow again, tender and loving, but Sarah still couldn't seem to keep her voice down once they got going. After, they laid curled up for a long time.

"Ugh, you were right about that shower," Sarah said at last, sitting up. "You coming?"

Chuck grunted and shifted slightly. He was exhausted and didn't feel like trying to get himself upright for anything fancy. He gave her a quick smooch on the hip. "Love you."

"I'm really going." Sarah threatened, and when Chuck just muttered softly, she actually did it, stood up naked as a jaybird and started off down the hall to the master bathroom. She may have swung her hips more than normal, putting every ounce of CIA seduction training she had into her walk. Chuck growled under his breath and was halfway to his feet in pursuit when the doorbell rang.

Chuck stopped in his tracks, bewildered. Who could that be at this time of night? He had a second bewildering moment. What time was it really? He checked his watch. Just half past eleven, and the digital readout was showing a little 'p' for PM. So, okay, not completely insane for someone to be at the door. Just insane that anyone was at _their_ door. Curiosity got the better of him, and he yanked his boxers on and headed toward the door.

"Chuck, don't answer it," Sarah insisted, rushing back into the living room for her sidearm.

"Somebody must have followed one of us."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "One of us meaning me? I'm sorry, but I had to do what I did in Chicago. I thought I covered my tracks."

The doorbell rang again, and someone knocked heavily. "Sheriff's Department!"

Sarah put on a frown of consternation. "Huh," she said. "I guess you better answer it then. You're wearing more clothes than me."

"This isn't saying a lot," Chuck grinned, and Sarah scowled, yanking the sheet up and wrapping it around her nakedness.

Chuck pulled the door open a crack. "Yes, officer?"

"Deputy," the man corrected, wedging his foot into the gap. "We had a report of a woman screaming. Your neighbor called it in, seemed to think there was a murder happening next door."

Chuck stopped breathing. "Murder? You're joking! Nobody got murdered. I don't know what that could have..." he blushed when it finally percolated through his brains what their neighbor must have heard.

Sarah pulled the door open wider and nuzzled up against his ear, letting the edge of the sheet slip, just a little. "Come back to bed, baby..." she affected not to see the Sheriff's deputy for several seconds while she tugged his ear with her teeth and slipped an arm around him seductively. Chuck knew better.

The deputy went beet red, cleared his throat. Sarah blinked in a pretty good approximation of surprise. "Oh... she said in her best air-head-vixen impression. "Was I too loud?" she giggled.

The Sheriff's deputy cleared his throat again. "Uh... right, so... um... keep it down, please? I don't want to have to come back out here again."

Sarah gave out a hig-pitched chortle and waved to the deputy's departing back. Chuck slammed the door shut and spun around to kiss her. Sarah pulled away, finally breaking down and blushing. "God, that's so embarrassing."

Chuck grinned. "Yes. Em-bare-assing."

Sarah scowled playfully and whipped the sheet from around her body to flick it over Chuck's head like a shroud to obscure his view of her as she stormed off to the rear of the house for her delayed shower.

When Chuck burst into the shower she squealed like she was surprised. Still, they struggled briefly. "Hey! Get out of here, your bandages," Sarah protested. "You need to keep them dry or you might get infect— oop!

The floor of the tub was not designed for two people engaged in any kind of physical activity, much less the kind two people up to the same kind of shenanigans as Chuck and Sarah. Their feet shot out from under them, and they landed with a crash.

"Ow," Chuck groaned.

"Anything broken?" Sarah asked, grabbing his arm and poking it out under the shower curtain to protect his bandages from the water as much as possible.

"Just my self respect," Chuck replied.

"Hmm..." Sarah mused. "Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?"

After they finally stopped being dirty in the shower and actually cleaned off, Sarah still couldn't shake the goofy grin she was wearing. She was drying her still-reddish hair with the only towel they'd found when he actually _did _surprise her. Sarah had been sure she'd worn him out completely. This was decidedly not the case.

Sarah collapsed at last to the cold stone of the counter, Chuck atop her. He caught most of his weight on his elbows, but she wouldn't have minded if he hadn't. The feel of his weight pressing down on her had taken on a hugely erotic thrill earlier in the evening... or early morning? Chuck had probably lost track as well. She didn't think she could ever hug him innocently again after having been wrapped around him so intimately. She clenched around him in aftershocks at the thought. "I think we need another shower." Sarah finally managed to pant.

Chuck kissed the side of her neck gently. "Probably a bad idea. You'll just end up provoking me into round... God, I lost count somewhere." Sarah reached back and pinched his ribs.

"Good," she grumbled, "That's not something a gentleman keeps track of."

"I thought you wanted me to start thinking with little Chuck," he murmured. "Little Chuck likes to keep score."

"Then, I think I'm ahead."

"Hang on, how are you scoring?" Chuck asked, "When you come, do you get the point or do I?"

"I do."

"Then, in that case, I'm honored to be bringing up the rear."

Sarah smirked at him in the mirror. "I'll bet." Chuck looped his arms around her waist and stood, pulling her to her feet. She groaned in protest at the lack of his skin pressing against hers.

"Get in the shower," Chuck said. She made a disappointed sound, so he kissed the nape of her neck softly. "I'll go make a bed out of the spare sleeping bag. See you in the bedroom."

Sarah moaned happily. "Bedroom. I like the sound of that."

* * *

Chuck opened his eyes the next morning and immediately started to panic. Where the hell was he? This wasn't his bedroom. What was going on? Then he glanced down at the mop of reddish hair splayed across his chest, felt the silky smooth flesh pressed against every inch of him, and his heart fell into his stomach. Good God, what had he done! Sarah was going to kill him, how the hell could he have... had he cheated on Sarah? It was impossible. He must have been drugged or something, not that that was even an excuse, but now would be the time to escape, even though it looked like he'd have to chew off his entire body to— the redhead stirred in his arms and shifted, turning her face toward him as her eyes opened. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sarah?" He said and kissed her temple. "Thank God."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Who were you expecting?" she growled.

"The hair threw me for a second." Chuck explained, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "For a second, I thought..." he shuddered. "You know I would never—"

"Shh..." Sarah said, running her hands to cup his cheeks. Their lips met briefly and her hands flitted off some— there they were. "Hiyo!" He said.

"Mmm..." She groaned as she pulled away. "Don't worry," She grinned, eyes full of mischief. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for the next seventy years, so it's not like you'll ever have the opportunity to stray, even if you wanted to."

"Seventy," Chuck said in astonishment. "Don't you think you're over-shooting? You really think we'll both make it to a hundred?"

She bared her teeth at him, and it wasn't a smile, exactly. "You will if you know what's good for you," Sarah said. "I don't intend babysitting the great-great-grandkids by myself."

"You seem to have thought this out. So, what are our great-great-grandkids names?"

Sarah shrugged. "That'd be up to our great-grandkids, although I'll try to lobby for a couple of Chucks in the pack somewhere." He smiled and rubbed his nose across her cheek, kissed the side of her mouth, and his stomach growled. Sarah laughed. "I guess someone needs to refuel?"

"If you're interested in a repeat of last night any time soon, I think breakfast is in order."

"And some cream for my rugburn," Sarah said. Chuck kissed her and tried to wriggle out from under her. "Wait."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetie," she murmured. "Absolutely nothing. Stay still." Sarah kissed down his jawline, to his neck. "I'm just going to take care of that pesky morning wood of yours." The trail of kisses took her lips onto his chest and points further south.

Chuck's eyebrows shot up when he realized what she was talking about a couple seconds after that.

* * *

"Today's going to be a long day, isn't it?" Chuck said.

Sarah nodded at him from her crouch next to her suitcase. "I know. We need to furnish this whole place, plus food. New wardrobes..." she groaned. "I told you the house was supposed to be fully furnished, right? We need to buy a bed, fast."

"Yeah, I'm going to need you to dye your hair back to its normal color before we do that."

Sarah frowned. "Really? But my new driver's license has me listed as a redhead."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Don't care. I don't want to have a heart attack every time I wake up, expecting you to be blond."

Sarah heaved a sigh. "Fine. Blond hair-color goes on the grocery list," she said, and stood, with one hand behind her back.

"What are you hiding?" Chuck said with a touch of an accusatory overtone. She had kind of an impish grin, which he was quickly coming to realize, meant trouble, especially when they were alone together.

Her grin widened. "Come on," she said playfully. "I can't believe you haven't noticed already."

Chuck frowned. "Noticed what?"

She shook her head in disappointment. "Wedding rings. I picked them up in Boulder a couple days ago. Gimme your hand," she said.

Chuck complied with a slow smile and Sarah produced a heavy gold band from behind her back. As she worked to thread his ring onto his finger, Chuck realized what she'd meant. Sarah must have had her own ring on the whole time. "Oh," he said. "I get it now... sorry I didn't notice your ring earlier."

She shrugged. "You were distracted," Sarah tilted her head back so he could see that she was still beaming, but then she remembered something and tugged the ring off. "Almost forgot," she said. "Look here." Sarah held the ring up closer to his eyeline.

"What exactly am I looking for?" Chuck asked with an eyebrow quirked. Sarah thrust the ring closer still. He could just make out a tiny line of engraving on the inside.

_**Property of Sarah Bartowski**_

Chuck laughed and shook his head. "I thought that was my ring... why does it say..."

Sarah tugged him down for a brief kiss, but there was a certain possessive gleam in her eyes when she pulled away. "Use your imagination," she grumbled and grabbed his hand once more, sliding the ring into position.

"Wait, wait a second," Chuck said. "That's not very good trade-craft, is it? What if somebody gets a hold of my ring? Wouldn't that could blow our cover as... what was it? The Murtaughs?"

Sarah fixed him with a cool-eyed stare, arching one perfect eyebrow. "And why, pray tell, would you have taken off your wedding ring in the first place?"

"Ah," Chuck said. "I didn't... um... you see, that..." he sighed. "There's no right answer to that question, is there?"

Sarah snorted softly. "Of course there is," she said.

"What, really?" Chuck said, wracking his brains.

"Let me help you out there, Chuckles," Sarah said. "The answer is: 'I won't take it off for _any reason_,' you got me?" She didn't bother waiting for a response to that; it was mostly rhetorical, anyway.

It was only after they had gotten dressed out of their suitcases and piled into Sarah's rental car, that something occurred to him. "So, does your ring have a matching inscription?"

Sarah shook her head, and then glanced out her mirrors as she backed down the driveway. "Nope, you've got to come up with something on your own. There's got to be someplace that can do the engraving nearby. But no rush, I'll let you think about it for a while."

"Thanks," Chuck said, pausing to think about it. "So, where to first? Groceries?"

Sarah nodded. "Sure, sounds like a plan."

Their search of the relatively small town of Clarkdale failed to turn up anything in the way of supermarkets, which struck her as ridiculous. Sarah began to growl under her breath as they drove in a circle around Clarkdale. There were a pair of gas stations that would have breakfast burritos or something; they had signs for 'Food Marts', but no dedicated supermarkets. Eventually, they drove down the state highway a few miles to the larger nearby town of Cottonwood, where Chuck spotted a sign for 'famous strawberry crepes.'

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Seriously?" she said teasingly. "You want to eat at a place called 'Hobo Joe's'?"

Chuck shrugged, and his stomach growled. Sarah laughed and turned into the parking lot without further prodding. They seated themselves and only had to wait a couple minutes before a waitress came over, a blocky, middle-aged woman in jeans with a baggy t-shirt tucked into them. Chuck ordered the famous crepes, and Sarah got steak and eggs with hash browns, a stack of buttermilk pancakes and a side order of bacon, biscuits and gravy. Chuck met her eyes with a quizzical expression, but she waited until the waitress was gone to lean in and kiss him. It wasn't an appropriate-for-a-public-place kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth briefly and roughly. There was a possessive, predatory gleam in her eyes when she finally pulled away. There were chuckles and scattered applause from a table across the restaurant. "I'm going to need my strength later, aren't I?" Chuck asked softly.

Sarah nodded slowly, a playful smirk on her face.

* * *

After breakfast, they did finally find a supermarket in Cottonwood, an S-mart, with Halloween decorations everywhere. Chuck and Sarah exchanged glances and did the math. It was indeed the second of October, which meant Halloween decoration season in the supermarkets had started. Chuck grinned and made a beeline for them, dragging Sarah after him by the hand. He was just a big kid; sometimes, she would swear he was just exactly like a big kid. It brought a smile to her lips, and the realization hit her then, down in her bones... she was free. Sure, she was living under an alias, but she hadn't been 'herself' in twenty-three years, and Sarah Murtaugh was _her _now, as long as they played it smart. She _really_ wanted to be Sarah _Bartowski_ out in the open, but that didn't seem to be in the cards. Sarah grinned and went up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, and then left him to the decorations. She grabbed a second shopping cart and tore through the store, snatching up the necessities: fresh fruits, vegetables, canned soups, chips, bread, milk, cereal, some steaks, pork chops, frozen dinners. Then of course, the dye Chuck insisted she use to change her hair back to normal, a first aid kit, and assorted toiletries. She grinned and grabbed a gallon of rocky road ice cream that she fully intended to eat directly off of her Chuck. Her cart was full in short order, and she was already on her way to checkout when her phone beeped.

_**Where'd u go? I'm at checkout.**_

Instead of returning the text, Sarah pushed her cart up and tried to cut in behind Chuck in line. "Excuse me, coming through."

"Hey, young lady," an old woman said, "there's a line."

"I know, my husband's right at the front of it." Sarah tried to explain, pointing out Chuck.

"Hmph," the old woman said, "a likely story."

Sarah glowered at the old woman. She obviously wasn't going heavy enough with the PDA. That was easy enough to fix, if she could just get past this little old lady and over to Chuck, but the silver-haired harridan was blocking her path with her cane. Sarah frowned, not really thrilled with the spectacle she would make of herself, if she just shoved through. Then she shrugged and raised her voice. "Chuck, a little help here, baby?"

"Oh, my God," he said, turning from chatting with the check-out girl and taking in her loaded cart. "How are we going to fit all of that in the fridge?" Sarah arched an eyebrow at the old woman, who sighed, dropped her cane out of the way, and motioned her forward. It took a conscious effort not to stick her tongue out at the woman. She still felt giddy being able to just be with him all the time without censoring herself.

"Oh, my God," she said, once reunited with Chuck. "How much are you spending on Halloween decorations?" She grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him in close to whisper fiercely in his ear. "We're supposed to be lying low, not making spectacles of ourselves!"

He just laughed and kissed her cheek. "Come on, honey, it's either this or the neighbor kids will egg the house."

"Well, I don't think that will be an issue," Sarah mused, flipping through his cart questioningly. "Is this a full-sized skeleton?"

"Skellington," Chuck corrected, "Jack Skellington."

Sarah frowned in confusion. "You already named it?"

Chuck shook his head. "I can't believe it," he said. "You never saw _The_ _Nightmare Before Christmas_?"

"I don't like horror movies," Sarah protested.

"It's not a horror movie!" Chuck said in abject disbelief. "It's a stop-motion Christmas movie, like Rudolf. Tell me you saw that one at least?"

"With 'nightmare' in the title?" Sarah scoffed as she handed over her 'murtaugh' credit card. The checkout girl was grinning at Chuck over her shoulder for some reason, as if trying to keep from laughing. Sarah's eyes narrowed. 'Stop grinning at my man, brunette skank,' she said quite eloquently using only her eyes. Only a few hours earlier, she would have been tempted to clock the bitch with the French bread. But this morning, she was feeling... benevolent, mellow. The woman shrugged her shoulders sheepishly and turned to fiddle with the register. Sarah snatched her card back with a halfhearted glare, and she and Chuck wrestled their swag out the door and into the trunk. There was a fair bit of overflow. "You have got to see Nightmare Before Christmas. That's the beauty of it: it works both for Halloween and Christmas; it's a double threat."

Sarah scoffed. "You're just trying to get me to watch a scary movie so you can try to get into my pants."

Chuck arched an eyebrow and manhandled replica-Jack Skellington into the backseat. "Do I really need the complicated stratagems anymore?"

Sarah frowned. "Well... I guess not, but I'd appreciate a little romance every now and then."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll romance your socks off..."

"Just my socks?" Sarah grinned at Chuck's expression. "Is this some kind of weird fetish you've been keeping from me all this time?" She put on an expression of mock fear, and Chuck wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against him and leaning back against the car.

Chuck kissed her tenderly, and then pulled away for a moment. He arched an eyebrow. "Do you _want_ it to be?"

Sarah laughed and cuffed him playfully in the arm. "Come on, the ice cream is melting," she said.

* * *

After dropping the groceries off back at the house, and dyeing her hair blond once more, Chuck and Sarah still had a whole day's worth of shopping to do. Sarah used the opportunity to explore her newfound freedom to flirt outrageously with him at the drop of a hat. At the Mattress Firm, when the middle aged woman acting as day manager overheard a comment that hadn't been whispered low enough, they'd had to buy the top-of-the-line king-size pillow-top just to stop her from kicking them out of the store. The woman had kept a stern eye on them the rest of the time they'd been in the store, making sure Sarah wasn't making good on her threat to 'put all the beds through a test drive' as a means of coming to a decision. Even after the 'Mattress Firm incident,' as Chuck took to calling it, Sarah was almost giddy. Chuck grinned to himself as well, every time she wasn't looking at him, still finding it hard to believe that they were out, that they were married, for real. He'd had almost two months to get used to it, but it had never seemed real, despite the papers on file at the appropriate places, until she'd given him his ring that morning before they left the house. He turned it absently with his thumb, grinned when he remembered the inscription, and they made their way into the Office Max in search of a computer desk.

Despite their being on the run from the NSA, he felt like they were a normal couple for the first time. The only downside was that Sarah kept gently rebuking him for calling her Mrs. Bartowski, constantly reminding him that they were the Murtaughs now. It made sense not to mention the B-word, even if they were sure they weren't being taped, because, as she had put it oh so eloquently on the way to breakfast, "It's only when you're sure you aren't being taped that you can be taped saying something incriminating, if you're not a complete idiot."

The sales associate at Office Max was kind of pushy, and he kept alternately staring at Sarah's chest and asking if they needed someone to come around to help with the install. The man reminded Chuck just slightly of Jeff. He wasn't completely sauced, though Chuck did notice the flask poking out of the man's shirt pocket. Chuck spotted the man's nametag, which really said it all: Randy. He shook his head and finally snapped. "I spent eight years of my life working at a Buy More. I think I'll be fine, Randy!"

Sarah glared at him, and once Randy had wandered off, she punched him in the arm. "No Buy More talk!" She insisted.

Chuck shrugged and rubbed his arm. "I know, sorry." Then he felt a grin spreading across his face. He couldn't help but go on. "I guess you'll just have to take me home and punish me for being naughty."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Don't think I won't, buster," she grinned as well. "What with the backlog we've got to work through."

"Backlog?" Chuck said, with a sinking feeling.

Sarah nodded earnestly, leaning in to whisper, even though the store was mostly deserted and they'd run off the appropriately named 'Randy.' "Do the math... if not for one thing or another, I'd have jumped you the second you got back from Prague. Figure we average that out to once a day... conservatively..."

The math was indeed easy enough, but his mind reeled at the implications. Chuck felt himself swallow. That sinking feeling was back. And then, she went on. "Still, I figure we should be able to knock that out by Halloween."

Chuck whimpered softly, and Sarah tucked herself neatly under his arm, lacing her fingers through his. "Oh, relax," Sarah said, "I'm kidding. Probably Christmas, though, at the latest."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: So, this story is nearing completion, but we're not quite there yet. Still a few more chapters, and maybe some more action... no, not _that_ kind of action. The _other _kind. The kind with explosions.

I always enjoy feedback, so drop me a review and let me know how you think I'm doing on this story.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: It's been a while, sorry about that.

_daywalkr82, _as always, caught a bunch of stuff that I should have, making this story a lot more readable. So thanks.

I'm nearing the end of this story, which became about twice as epic as the original plan, in the act of writing it. Then again, there's still like 5 or six chapters left, so whatever.

* * *

Chapter 34: Cardio & Consequences

* * *

"Whew," Chuck said, laying the food down on the kitchen counter. "Sarah, I got food. Hello?" Well, time for the daily Search for Sarah. They'd fallen into a comfortable routine the last couple of weeks, though Chuck wasn't up to joining Sarah on her mid-morning run and workout regimen. He was having enough trouble keeping up with the workout Sarah put him through in the bedroom. He grabbed his Dr. Pepper and the pair of subs from the counter and took a long sip as he walked around into the living room. No Sarah. He cocked his head to the side, listening. "Sarah?" He said louder. "You here?"

Chuck glanced at his watch and sighed. Sarah was probably in the den beating the shit out of the heavy bag, probably working up a good sweat and... gah. Lunch first, she was probably starving. Not a good idea, putting the moves on an exhausted, food-starved wife. Sarah was sometimes still full of nervous energy after her workout, but still... food first. As he walked down the hall, he could hear the rhythmic thumping that told him Sarah was into the kick boxing portion of her workout.

"Sarah!" He called again, pulling the door to the den open. "I got you a veggie sub."

"Oh, hey," Sarah said, sweat dripping down her face and torso and into the hint of cleavage her sports bra showed. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, it was time for food, not fun. He needed to eat his weight in Subway if he was going to keep up with _that_... sure he could Kung-Fu with the very best of them—sometimes—but Sarah's natural athleticism was what was really on display in the den. If anything, she had increased her workout regimen over the couple of weeks they'd been in Clarkdale, and her already toned arms and her midsection had taken on an almost intimidating level of definition. Despite being a few inches taller and probably at least fifty pounds heavier than his wife (like he was stupid enough to ask her weight), Chuck had the distinct... not quite a fear... that she was physically stronger than him, that if it came down to it, she could quite effectively pin him and have her way with him no matter what he said, unless he flashed and could bring himself to Kung-Fu his wife, not that he would ever turn up his nose at the opportunity to make love to Sarah/Sam Peters/Bartowski/Murtaugh/Whatever-she-wanted-him-to-call-her, but the last few days, she had been true to her word about making up for lost time. She was running him ragged; twice in the mornings, twice before they went to bed, a couple times a week in the middle of the night.

Now, she was eyeing him at dinnertime, at lunch time, and she'd taken to pouncing on him any time she came across him lying down on the sofa to watch tv or play a game. Any time he was horizontal, he was apparently fair game, and even sometimes when he was standing up too close to a flat surface. Yesterday had been both a beautiful and terrible day.

He'd never thought he could get fed up with making love to Sarah, and he _wasn't_ fed up... per se... no, certainly not that, or bored, god forbid he say something and let her think he was bored! He was definitely nearing the end of his physical endurance, though, and Sarah looked like she still had energy to burn. The energizer bunny had nothing on his Sarah. And they'd been doing it _like_ bunnies. Judging from her extended workout routine, if it wasn't for her workouts every morning bleeding off some of her energy, he'd have been dead of exhaustion before the end of his first week as Charles Murtaugh.

He'd tried to get to bed early yesterday to get some badly needed rest, but Sarah had just grinned the biggest grin he'd ever seen from her and followed him to bed at _eight o'clock_. She hadn't let him rest for more than a couple minutes before trying to coax him into yet another round. Almost five hours and a refrigerator completely emptied of Monster energy drinks later, Sarah had finally drifted off into a sex-coma.

She was still wearing a faint, satisfied smile in the morning before she woke up. After she awoke, however, the grin had turned hungry yet again, and now Chuck had lines of raw scratches from her fingernails all across his back that itched fiercely despite the ointment she'd tenderly rubbed into them after. Chuck blinked out the memory and she snatched her sub out of his unresponsive hand. He turned to watch her walk out into the hall, his mouth hanging open, despite the fact he was in no real shape to do anything about it.

"Chuck, stop staring at my ass and let's go eat," Sarah said. He followed, trying entirely without success to pry his eyes from the luscious shape of her rear end. She glanced over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes with a smile. "Chuck, not now. I'm exhausted, you've really been wearing me out lately. Can you do without tonight?"

"What!" Chuck sputtered.

"Oh, no!" Sarah said, and turned back, hands out reassuringly. "Don't think... I'm not complaining; believe me, I'm not complaining! It's been great, but I just don't think physically I can keep up with you much longer, Sweetie. I've been working on my cardio all week, but, it hasn't made _any_ difference. GOD! You're insatiable!"

"_I'm insatiable?" _Chuck shouted. "I about had a heart attack last night, and not in the joking 'you're so sexy' way I usually say it."

Sarah cocked her head, puzzled. "Then why did you drag me to bed three hours early and insist on having your way with me over and over again. I can still barely walk straight."

"I didn't insist on anything," Chuck said, laughing nervously. "You were watching that show on Discovery you like with the survivor guy, and I figured it was safe to slip off to bed and get some actual rest, but you just flicked the TV off and ran in after me."

"Wait... so you didn't want to make love to me last night? But it was amazing!"

"I didn't say that." Chuck stopped and tried to control his breathing. "Look, let's both just calm down and sit down and eat, and we'll talk about this. I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

Chuck pulled her in for a hug, her arms going around him, still dripping sweat, and he felt it soaking into his shirt, the floral scent of her shampoo and the clean-sweat smell of _her _that he just could not physically resist. Chuck breathed it in, and Sarah pulled away, eyebrows going up and eyes darting down to where he was pressing a sudden erection into her bare midriff. "Chuck, I thought we were going to go eat," she said.

Chuck groaned. "Yes. Food. I know. Look, Sarah, it's an autonomous reaction, I promise; I really don't plan things like that."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Autonomous? What do you mean?"

"Like Ellie and Devon explained to me one time, it's like not breathing or, or trying to stop your heart from beating; it can't be done. Your body just does it by itself."

"Hang on, so, every time you give me a hug, you _involuntarily_ get wood," Sarah remarked, with a thoughtful expression. This isn't going to put me out of the blowy business is it, Mr. Murtaugh?" She went on, sounding concerned now.

"What?" Chuck said, startled and now painfully aroused. "I don't... it's maybe not autonomous, not involuntary, but that outfit does... _things_ to me. Being within arms length of you does it to me, just... I can't be around you without some kind of reaction."

"This didn't happen in Burbank," Sarah said with a frown, "Maybe—"

"Like hell it didn't!" Chuck said, "I was just better about not letting hugs involve hips because I knew we couldn't do anything about it and didn't want to freak you out. It's been happening since the day we met. God, just thinking about that Weinerlicious outfit is enough. I assure you, I was trying my absolute damnedest not to let you figure that out. I love you, and I didn't want you thinking that was _all_ _I_ was thinking about."

Sarah smirked at him as she sat down at the table, pulling her Diet Coke over to her gratefully and draining half of it in the vain hope that it would help cool the fire in her cheeks. "Okay... let me try to figure this out. You're giving me kind of mixed signals here, Chuckles; Lil Chuck is always up for a roll in the hay, or the kitchen counter, or the floor in the living room, but big Chuck?"

"Big Chuck will never, ever, under any circumstances, turn down a chance to show Big Sarah exactly how much he loves and cherishes her, even if it kills him, which at the rate we're going is going to be in the next two weeks," Chuck said. "If you want me to live long enough for the NSA to find me and throw me in a bunker you're going to have to stop walking around the house so goddamn _sexy_ all the time. Maybe some baggy sweat suits, or, I don't know, a bhurka or something. I simply do not have the discipline not to bang you like a screen door every chance you give me. Maybe if you'd tell me _no_ every once in a while?"

"I thought you'd heard enough of that in the first three years of our relationship..."

"Oh God that was torture, but we need to— to pace ourselves, you know? Let's make a pact: restrict ourselves to one time in the mornings and one time before bed? At least for a while, until I finish catching up to you, conditioning wise?"

Sarah's eyes narrowed while she thought about it. "So, no afternoon delight?" Sarah said, arching an eyebrow in concern. "I like afternoon delight."

"Afternoon delight optional," Chuck said, coming to a compromise, and they shook on it, Sarah wearing a mock-solemnity that Chuck found too cute for words. Chuck and Sarah ate their food in silence for a few minutes, Sarah wolfing down her veggie sub in record time. "Hey, what did you get? It smells really good." Sarah said, snatching the other half of his footlong and taking a huge bite. "Mmmm..." She sighed in delight. "God, that's good."

"It's a BMT, but..." Chuck stared at her.

"What?" Sarah said, "Mustard on my face?" She took another bite and handed the sandwich back reluctantly.

"No, Sarah, there's olives on it."

Sarah chewed and swallowed. "Liar, there weren't any olives on that; it was delicious."

Chuck opened the sandwich to show that there were, indeed, a large number of olives. "They actually kind of went overboard, but I didn't feel like picking them off..." Sarah and Chuck locked eyes. Something very odd was going on in Casa de Murtaugh. Sarah blinked first, for a change, and pushed her chair back. She went looking for more food. God she was starving. In the refrigerator, there were just leftovers mostly, and things she would have to heat up, very little in the way of cold snacks. Aha! The jar of Vlasic pickles she'd made Chuck pick up at the S-Mart earlier that week. She pulled a spear out and crunched away happily for all of two seconds before rushing over to the sink to spit out her usually tasty treat.

"God, what the hell, Chuck? What did you do to my pickles!"

"I didn't do anything," he protested, scraping his chair back.

"Pickles don't go bad, that's what makes them _pickles_. And these pickles are dis_gus_ting."

Chuck frowned and went into the kitchen to retrieve the pickle jar. "Huh. They smell fine to me. I'm not really an expert on the subject though." He held the jar over to her, and Sarah took a brief sniff. The smell, just of the pickle water, turned her stomach, and Sarah immediately turned back to the sink, emptying her stomach violently. Chuck rushed over and held her hair out of her face while she retched, then handed her a damp hand-towel when she was finally finished.

"Are you okay?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"I don't know..." Sarah said weakly.

* * *

Once Sarah had showered, managing to do so by herself only by kicking a concerned Chuck out of the bathroom and locking the door, she let Chuck drive over to the Cottonwood Medical Center. A little over twenty minutes away, it was the closest hospital in the area. "So, what do we do when they ask for medical insurance?"

"Check your wallet, Chuck; you should have your Charlie Murtaugh PPO card. I've got one too."

"PPO? What? Our covers have better health coverage that I did at the Buy More?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I took out twenty-year policies for the Murtaughs before we ever left Burbank, Chuck. What part of 'I have everything planned out' was confusing to you?"

"How did you get all this money?" Chuck asked, genuinely puzzled.

Sarah quirked an eyebrow. "I stole it."

"What?" Chuck demanded.

Sarah cringed a little. "Don't be mad. It happened before we met. Bryce and I were in Venezuela, and there was this arms deal that we were brokering, and we weren't supposed to break cover, and then when it all went wrong, we ended up with a briefcase full of thousand-dollar bills; the CIA didn't want the money leading back to the agency because we weren't technically supposed to be there, and they just told us to use our discretion, so Bryce and I split it. We got four-point-three million each."

"You just kept it?"

"We could have burned it, I guess, or just tossed it down a well, but we needed to do _something _with it. Destroy it or clean it, were the two viable options, so we kept it and laundered it through the guy who does most of the CIA deep cover operations units' investment portfolios. Bryce left me his half when he died." Chuck's expression fell. "No, the first time. The CIA froze it when they thought he'd gone rogue, but it just got released again right before we had to leave. I didn't have time to transfer it. We're living on my half. His half is still in Sarah Walker's bank account, which we can't access anymore so its moot. The rest is— I shuffled it into Chuck and Sarah Murtaugh's blind trust through a couple of numbered accounts over the last several months. I didn't mean to bring him up. I know it's still raw. He was a good friend in the end, despite everything."

"Okay. I'm sorry I overreacted. I just... that sounds like something Vic Mackey would do."

"Tell me you _didn't_ just compare me to the Commish!"

"The character is different from the actor. Is that why you don't like the Shield? You expect Michael Chiklis character continuity? He was the Thing in that horrible Fantastic Four movie, but you don't see me complaining he wasn't made from orange rock." Chuck said. Sarah rolled her eyes.

Then she grinned. "I bought a plane too," she said as a way of changing the subject.

"You bought a what?" Chuck demanded, turning into the parking lot.

"Don't worry; it's just a little four-seater Cessna. Sara Murtaugh has a pilot's license. We can go a lot of places if we want, we just have to file a flight plan and buy gas. And this way, we don't have to worry about airport security screenings or that crap."

"But won't our picture IDs get flagged by NSA and bring them down on us?"

"Nope, the municipal airport just has a keypad on the gate, and Sara Murtaugh used to be fat, so they won't be able to get a good read from the facial recognition software. Private plane means you don't need to show ID. Security is a little lax, but terrorism isn't a concern way out here. There's nothing to blow up."

"Wait. What?"

"What what?"

"The fat what."

"It's part of my cover. 'I' had a lap-band surgery," Chuck frowned, and Sarah shrugged and went on. "It wasn't a spur of the moment decision, Chuck, I did think this through. I already explained it to the people at the Cottonwood Municipal Airport."

"So, I loved you for you, and yet you magically became a vision of loveliness. Explains the nerd and the babe, quickly and succinctly for all our nosy neighbors. I like it."

"Chuck. You know I can hurt you, right?"

"What did I say? Isn't 'vision of loveliness' a good enough compliment? Man, some girls are so jaded."

"I meant, stop belittling yourself. You are plenty sexy enough to get me," Sarah said. "We did just have an argument about me not being able to keep my hands off of you, didn't we?"

"Actually it was our mutual lack of control that was causing problems."

"Which proves my point. It wasn't you pestering me for sex all the time," Sarah said. "Was I or was I not demanding that you put out at all hours of the day and night?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it demanding, except physically. I should start working out with you some times."

"That will not lead to us having less sex, Sweetie, _quite _the contrary."

"Okay, then I'll work out after you finish."

"Oh, no," Sarah said emphatically, "no sweaty-Chuck walking around the house with his t-shirts clinging to his chest and his hair making sexy animal shapes."

"Ellie calls them funny animal shapes and makes me get haircuts."

"Ellie is a crazy woman, and we've had this conversation before. I need to talk to her about that time she made you cut off the curls the next time I see her."

"If we see her again." He had a pained expression. They hadn't talked about it, but Sarah knew he was still hurting about the fact he hadn't been able to say goodbye to his sister.

"When, Chuck," Sarah said and patted him consolingly on the knee. "_When_ we see her again."

"Thanks, Sarah," Chuck said, pulling into the parking lot. "I can almost believe it when you say it."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, a sad smile on her lips.

They explained to the nurse what the problem was, and she shrugged and wrote down the symptoms while they filled out a thoroughly made up medical history for Sarah Murtaugh. As long as their doctor didn't come from the Gregory House School of Medicine, it should pass muster. That finished, Chuck and Sarah waited.

After about half an hour, Sarah leaned into Chuck. "If I wasn't sick when we got here, I will be when we leave. This is ridiculous. Half the town must be sick!" She lowered her voice. "This isn't like back in LA, with potentially thousands of patients a night, and half a dozen hospitals. This town isn't even fifty thousand people! Maybe there's some kind of epidemic going around. We should just go home; I'm feeling a lot better."

Chuck shrugged. "You don't like doctors?" He whispered. "You're a better actress than I ever knew. Ellie and Awesome will be crushed."

"You better keep your mouth shut!" Sarah grumbled. If they ever saw them again, she didn't want to muddy things up with recriminations. "I like doctors fine, In the abstract or when they're fixing bullet holes or knife wounds. And Ellie and Awesome are wonderful people, but they're the exception that proves the rule," Sarah grunted. "I still feel ridiculous letting you drag me here. I was just _at _the doctor's not even a month ago, getting a full physical and blood work, and that Depo-Provera shot."

The nurse led them to an exam room and took some blood, and they had to wait another couple of hours for the results, despite Sarah's continued insistence that she was fine. Finally, the doctor called them into another exam room. Sarah sat on the paper-covered exam table with her arms crossed in what she insisted was _not _a sulk, and Chuck would do well to remember it. He stood dutifully next to her with his arm around her shoulders. The doctor looked down at the chart. "I'm Doctor Reynolds, you must be Charlie and Sara?"

"That's us," Chuck said. "So, do you know what's going on?"

"Of course. You're pregnant. Congratulations."  
"That's impossible," Sarah said. Her eyes had gone the size of teacups.

"Are you sexually active?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. Usually before breakfast. "We're newlyweds. You figure it out. This is ridiculous. I haven't even missed my period."

"Some of the symptoms, such as morning sickness can occur very quickly after ovulation, often within a week or two of conception, or even sooner in some cases."

"I'm on birth control," Sarah complained futilely.

The doctor raised one eyebrow, and then buried himself in the chart. After a minute of flipping pages, he shook his head. "No, you're not."

"What? My last doctor gave me a birth control shot right before the— honeymoon. The thing was supposed to last for three months!"

"Well, Mrs. Murtaugh, whatever shot your doctor gave you, it wasn't a birth control shot. There aren't any traces of those medications in your bloodstream."

"God," Sarah said, "What are we going to do? I'm not ready for this. I can't be a mom... this is just..."

"I can refer you to a family planning counselor to discuss options, adoption, or abor—"

"Do not finish that goddamn word!" Sarah barked, grabbing the doctor by the stupid white coat with one hand, her fist cocked to lay him out.

"Sarah calm down," Chuck said, putting his hand on the small of her back, just so, like he sometimes did when they were making... he was trying to distract her! Anger flashed in her eyes, now at both men, but she sighed and shrugged and let the doctor go after a tense moment.

"So, that's a no on the family planning counselor. I wish I could say that was the worst reaction to the suggestion I've seen," Reynolds sighed. "I really do... there is one other thing before you go. We should find out what company your previous physician used to get his shots. If there's a widespread problem, or if they were giving out other fake drugs on purpose, we need to get to the bottom of it."

"Butt out, Doc," Sarah growled, grabbing Chuck by the wrist and charging out of the room. They couldn't afford to have a trail leading back to LA, not _now_, after they'd finally settled into some kind of life _together._

The doctor followed. "Wait, Mrs. Murtaugh! I know this whole situation came at you unexpectedly, but I still need to take some more blood. We need to figure out what they _did_ inject you with, and keep testing you to make sure you aren't developing some ailment from the fake shot. And then we need to schedule a sonogram for some time in the next few weeks if you're keeping the pregnancy." Sarah had stopped while the doctor was talking, but once he finished, she ground her teeth and started for the door again. Chuck shrugged helplessly at the doctor, then quickened his stride to catch up to his leggy blond _pregnant_ valkyrie of a wife. He was grinning and couldn't help it.

Chuck finally caught up to her at the elevator, jamming his foot between the closing doors to stop her getting away to their car without having to talk to him. "Sarah, come on, you're overreacting."

"I am _not_ overreacting. If anything, I'm _under_-reacting," She said, shrugging off his attempt to fold her into a hug. "There's a reason I went and got that birth control shot and it wasn't so I could have a baby right freaking now!"

Chuck couldn't come up with anything to say to that, and he was equally helpless in trying not to let it show just what her sentiments did to him. His face fell and he turned away, standing in front of her. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment in sorrow, and then lunged forward to trip the emergency stop. She spun him around and grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him into the hug now. "I'm sorry, baby," she said, "I'm just mad at the stupid doctors and... just this whole situation, really. Don't think—" She opened her eyes to gaze up at him. "Don't you think for a _second_, that I don't want to settle down and all that stuff, because I do. God, before I met you I didn't know how _bad_ I could want that." Chuck opened his mouth to say something, and Sarah clamped a hand over his mouth. Her voice shook when she continued. "Don't. If I don't say this now, I might never be able to say it again. Despite what I want, it shouldn't be right now... you're still a fugitive, and if Beckman could prove that we were together she'd try to charge me with treason. I want to have your children with all my heart, Chuck. Some days its all I can think about. I love you, Charles Bartowski, but this is a really inconvenient time to be having a baby."

"So, you don't want to keep this one," Chuck said, dying inside a little, but trying to hide it. "I... understand. I don't like it, but I understand that if we get caught, if they separate us, we can't have another later and... I'm sorry." The mask he'd been trying to put up broke. "I can't do this. I can't tell you it's alright to kill our baby."

Sarah hugged him tight, and came to a realization. She squeezed him until her arms hurt, and she felt Chuck start to squirm. "Good," she said, "Because I'm keeping it."

"Then what was all that about it being the wrong time and..."

"That... it doesn't matter. It was true. It's still the truth; it _is _the wrong time, but... we did this together, and as bad as the timing is, honey... We made, or we're making, I don't know what to think on the subject, but... we made this thing together. There's a life growing inside me, and I've never been good at the talking part, and I doubt I ever will be, but now that I know it's in there, it's like I can feel it. I feel different, knowing. I feel like a real person, not a spy. And I can't make this decision as a spy, coldly considering the complications it'll bring. We have to make this decision together, just as two people who love each other, not as Agent Carmichael and Agent Walker."

"Shouldn't it be Agents Bartowski?" Chuck asked, "And who says you aren't good at the talking part? That was, if you'll forgive the expression, awesome to hear."

Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled halfway out of the hug to push the emergency stop again. "Thanks. I guess we should go back and schedule that sonogram after all then?"

Chuck grinned and kissed her on the forehead. He produced the doctor's business card from his pocket. "It'll keep," he said, "Right now, we need to celebrate. I think this calls for chocolate malts... there's that place down in Jerome I want to try, and you're eating for two now."

As if to underscore the point, Sarah's stomach growled, and she stared down at her belly in shock.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is the super-belated Halloween story: 'Chuck & Sarah vs. the Pumpkin Carving Contest'


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Granted, this chapter probably should have been posted at a more season-appropriate time, but then it would have been a one-shot and spoiled things for people who hadn't read 'vs. the Bunker' yet. Also I would have had to write a big explanatory Author's note, much like this one... hmm...

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or Sarah, and I don't get any money from writing this story. This is strictly a 'can't seem to stop myself' situation.

* * *

Chapter 35: Chuck vs. the Trick-or-Treaters

* * *

Halloween was fast approaching, and Sarah tried to beg off helping Chuck put up the ridiculous number of decorations he'd purchased. "I'm pregnant. Do you really think I should be lugging all this heavy stuff around?"

"Come on, you're only three weeks pregnant," Chuck said. "The doctor said you can do normal exercise and y_our_ normal workouts are about fifty times more strenuous than lifting twenty pounds of pumpkin. Where's your Halloween spirit?"

Sarah kicked a rock off their sidewalk. "Humbug."

"That's Christmas, Ebenezer," Chuck shot back. "Okay, how about this: I'll let you pick our costumes if you help put up directions."

Sarah coughed. "Uh, about that. I already bought mine. I'm going as Supergirl. Did Supergirl ever have a steady boyfriend? So you can match my costume if you want?"

"Uh," Chuck said, thinking. "Yes, as long as you don't mind green body paint and me as a blond for a couple of days?"

"Wait, wait," Sarah said, frowning. "Green? I thought the Hulk was from Marvel. I swear I remember you saying— and isn't the Hulk married to Betty Ross?"

"What?" Chuck said, surprised that their weekly trips to the comic store in Prescott had given her that much comic-book knowledge by osmosis already. "No, not the Hulk, Braniac-5."

"I guess that is a little more believable, you big nerd," Sarah said fondly. "Hang on! Braniac was a _Superman_ villain, right? This is getting kinky and a little bit oedipal, isn't it?"

Chuck laughed. "Different Braniac. Braniac-5 was one of Braniac's descendents. He's on the Legion of Super-Heroes, from the 31st century, super smarts, that whole thing. Supergirl gets sent through time and meets him, and they fall in love; she even gets kind of overprotective of him. They work it out, but eventually she has to return to her own time, so they break up, and he has to erase her memories of the future."

"Well, I don't like that. It hits kind of close to home."

"The only other long term relationship Supergirl was in, that I remember, was with Lex Luthor, so..."

"What! That makes _zero_ sense, Sweetie."

"Well, it wasn't the Superman's cousin version; it was a different Supergirl, and she was dating Lex Luthor's brain in a new, cloned body that was claiming to be the original's grandson as a way to dodge criminal prosecution. She didn't know it was _him _him, which now that I'm thinking back on it is a ton creepier than I remember. And she was supposed to a _telepath_!" Chuck said, mildly affronted. "She should have figured that out! Now, it doesn't make any sense at all..."

"I ever tell you how ridiculous I sometimes find your comic book obsession?" Sarah said, chortling. "That sounds more like a bad sci-fi soap opera than an adventure story."

"Well," Chuck allowed, "it _was_ the nineties. This was back when they tried to replace Spider-Man with a blond clone of himself. Universally it's known as the worst decade in comics, and it doesn't help that I'm just telling you the Cliff's Notes version. You liked Watchmen, didn't you?"

"Ugh, don't remind me. That movie did not work properly without the piratey bits and all the meta-commentary about comic-book-storytelling. The giant blue _dong_ flapping everywhere did _not_ help, either. The book was _so_ much better. Even with the ending happening like it did." Sarah frowned at the goofy grin on his face. "Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing." Chuck said. "It's just so sexy when you talk nerdy to me."

"Really..." Sarah said and raised an eyebrow. "Then, you want me to run inside and put on the Supergirl costume so we can go play 'Hide the Coluan Sausage?'"

"We need to finish the decorations first," Chuck said with a blush staining his cheeks. Then his eyes widened. Chuck looked at her, shock painted on his face. "And I never told you Braniac-5 was from Colu!"

Sarah shrugged a little embarrassed, but still grinning. "I _may_ have researched this subject more than I let on."

"Once we finish putting up the decorations," Chuck said emphatically.

Sarah pouted and waited with her arms crossed for Chuck to break down and admit that it was a better idea to take her to bed and work up a sweat, than to stay outside and work up a sweat hanging fake cobwebs and rubber bats everywhere. It didn't happen after two minutes, and when he lasted five minutes, and even went into the garage for the stepladder, she had to wonder if maybe he had some super-serious hang-up about Halloween that she wasn't aware of. Sarah thought about it, and realized that it would be the first year that he and Morgan didn't get to parade around like lunatics as Shai-hulud, the giant sand-worm from _Dune_. This had to be hard on him, though he'd never admit it. Her pout dissolved into a drawn out, that's-so-cute-smile, and she went over to the big box of decorations and hauled out the life-size plastic skeleton. "Where do you want Mr. Skellington?" She asked in resignation.

"Give me a second to rig the zip-line," Chuck said.

Sarah's eyes popped. "Zip-line?"

He nodded. "Yeah, he's going to zip down on the Christmas lights like that one part in the movie."

Sarah closed her mouth. "I really need to see that movie."

Chuck nodded vigorously, "I've been saying this for weeks, but you keep giving me the sexy eyes so we never get past the opening credits."

Sarah shrugged. "I'm sorry," she said and attempted to look innocent. "I have no idea _what _you're talking about."

"Uh huh, a likely story..." Chuck said. "I'm wise to your wiles, Mrs. Bar—"

Sarah grabbed his face. "Murtaugh," she corrected in a whisper. "Neighbor lady, four o'clock."

"Face grabbing," Chuck shot back. "Very stealth, baby."

Sarah shushed him frantically.

"Excuse me," the woman said. She was middle-aged, with a chin-length head of salt & pepper hair, and thin as a blade. "I'm Linda Swanson from down at 1201 across the street, and I heard we had some new faces in town. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself and invite you to the Halloween party."

"What about trick-or-treaters?" Sarah said, searching for a polite way of getting out of party-going.

Linda waved that away. "Oh it usually breaks up early," she explained, "But the grapevine is pretty good on that front, anyway. We've got most of the parents on the block pooling resources for sitters. You've got to stop by and get to know everybody. You don't want people to think you're antisocial."

"Um..." Sarah said eloquently. Chuck grinned and she glared out the corner of her eye at him. "Right, of course we'll be there!"

"Well, good," Linda said. "I look forward to getting to know you two better."

As Linda walked off, Sarah spun on her heel so her expression wouldn't give her away. Pregnancy was absolutely _destroying _her poker face. "I can't believe you froze like that," Chuck said.

"Yeah, and a fat lot of help, you were," Sarah grumbled. "What was that grin? We can't get to know our neighbors! That's not the plan...we're supposed to just fade into the background."

Chuck grinned and slipped an arm around her waist. "Come on, Sarah. We'll just improvise."

Sarah crossed her arms. "Get in the house; we've got six days to rehearse before Halloween, and the Murtaugh cover legend has to be flawless."

"The what?" Chuck said. "I thought that was the point of coming here. No more covers?"

"Well, that was before you ruined my 'don't ever speak to the neighbors' policy."

Chuck frowned. "Hang on, rewind, Sarah," he said. "I didn't even say a word; that was all _you_."

Sarah grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him down into a kiss. Eventually, she released her hold on him and pulled away.

Chuck blinked repeatedly. "I forgot what I was saying," he said.

Sarah smirked. "Huh. Imagine that... come on," she said, "You have an entire fictional life to memorize."

"That you just came up with in the middle of kissing me?" Chuck said. "That's actually quite impressive."

Sarah shrugged. "Well, I may have a big file folder that explains everything somewhere... with charts."

Chuck grinned. "Good. Everything's better with charts."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"Neither can I," Chuck said, "I think I'm still rebooting from that kiss."

She let a slow smile spread across her lips. "You know I can't let you have the last word," Sarah said and slid her fingers through his hair. "So..." she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

Chuck's eyes widened, and he mutely let Sarah drag him back inside their house, Halloween decorations forgotten.

* * *

They arrived a few minutes after the party officially began and briefly found themselves the center of attention. He could almost hear her molars grinding. Most of the guests had arrived exactly on time, to Sarah's surprise. Clarkdale was apparently a very punctual town. Introductions went easily enough, though Chuck looked a little overwhelmed by all the names. Sarah put her CIA training to good use, memorizing all the faces and names almost without thinking about it.

Their hosts, the Swansons, were in their late forties, and their oldest had just left for college at Stanford. Linda's husband Ron was a barrel-chested man with a huge black mustache and a constant frown. Sarah grabbed Chuck's hand tightly when that little nugget about Ron, Jr. had come up, but he just glanced at her and winked an 'I know better than that' at her. Most of the couples who lived on the block had showed up, and surprisingly enough, Chuck and Sarah weren't the only twenty/thirty-somethings at the party.

"Okay, I get Supergirl," a youngish man wrapped in tinfoil said after introducing himself and his wife as 'The Nortons,' "But who are you, Greeny?" The man's wife, a brunette wearing cat ears laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. She was a little tipsy already.

"Braniac 5," Chuck shrugged, answering simply and without embarrassment. Or maybe that was just the green bodypaint covering up his blushes. "He and Supergirl were an item in Legion of Superheroes a few years ago."

"Did you know he was a geek when you married him?" The cat-eared Norton asked conspiratorially.

"Nerd," Sarah corrected instantly. "'Nerd' is the appropriate term. A geek bites the heads off chickens at carnival sideshows."

The tin-foil-wrapped Norton grinned. "Okay then, I think you touched a nerve there, babe. Anybody want some punch? I'm buying."

Chuck snorted and waved his still half full plastic cup. "I think we're good."

"What about you?" tin-foil Norton asked politely.

Sarah shook her head. "No alcohol for me."

"Ah," tin-foil robot said. "Pregnant, alcoholic, or you just don't drink? Or pregnant alcoholic?"

"Babe," Cat-Ears said. "Remember boundaries."

Sarah shrugged, but her smile practically lit up the room. "Pregnant," she finally said.

Cat-ears made a high-pitched squeal that reminded them both of Ellie and lunged forward to wrap Sarah in a hug. "Congratulations! That's awesome! We've been trying forever, but no luck. And Evan just refuses to go get checked—"

"I think that's enough sharing," Tin-foil Evan said. "I swear, Nellie, we hardly know them, and you were the one talking about boundaries." He turned his attention on Chuck and Sarah, explaining further. "She sometimes over-shares in order to bond. No offense, right Chuck?"

"Yeah, sure, don't mention it, Devon," Chuck said. Sarah's eyes went wide and she tried to poke him without letting it be seen. "I've got an old friend who does the same thing."

"It's Evan," Tin-foil remarked, frowning.

Chuck swallowed nervously. "What did _I_ say?"

Thankfully, at that point, Mr. Swanson stood up on a chair, holding a tiny white pumpkin over his head. "Okay, everybody, it's time to start the pumpkin carving contest. Last year's winners, the Nortons, get first pick of pumpkins, then its every team for themselves."

Sarah grabbed Chuck and pulled him close. "Did you know about this, Chuck?"

"Of course not," Chuck whispered, "But don't you have a knife skills course in your cover somewhere?"

Sarah frowned. "Still," she said. He took a sip of his punch, scanning the competition's pumpkin selection. The flash hit as he watched Ron Swanson clambering down from his perch on the chair, and Chuck's knees wobbled. Sarah caught him before he could do much more than shudder. She held him up with a little difficulty. Nellie Norton glanced at them curiously. "Little too much punch, looks like," The cat-eared brunette said.

Sarah laughed and nodded and helped Chuck over to the sofa, out of the way of the couples claiming their pumpkins. She sat next to him. "You flashed, didn't you?" Sarah whispered.

Chuck swallowed. "Yeah. Mr. Swanson isn't who he says he is. He's..."

"Wait!" Sarah hissed. "Don't say anything else. Just answer me this: he's not a terrorist, he's not in the Ring or Fulcrum is he? Retired NSA?"

Chuck shook his head. "No, he's in Witsec, testified against some mob guys in New York and..."

"Then we ignore it, doesn't concern us," Sarah said, relieved. She flipped her knife through her fingers. "Come on, let's win ourselves a pumpkin-carving contest."

They ended up getting the last pumpkin, thanks to Chuck's flash, but it appeared the Swanson's had bought all the good pumpkins in town, so they weren't stuck with one that was a weird shape, or too small or something, definitely not too _small. _Chuck grunted and manhandled the huge orange melon up onto a card table covered with plastic sheeting. Sarah grabbed a knife and slid the pumpkin over where she could work.

"So," Sarah said, sawing into the top of their pumpkin. "What should we carve? Standard jack-o-lantern face?"

"Want to try a Superman symbol?" Chuck said.

Sarah shrugged. "I suppose, but didn't... your costume, Braniac-5, didn't he have a super-team? 'League of Something?' Don't they have a logo?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. "_Legion of Superheroes_. Of course they have a logo, but we'd have to explain about fifty billion times." He glanced around where one couple dressed as Frankenstein's Monster and Bride of Frankenstein were halfway through stenciling Elvis onto their pumpkin. "And judging by the competition, we need mass appeal."

"Superman it is," Sarah said, and reached into the pumpkin. "Ooh," she grinned and hauled out a handful of pumpkin guts. "Slippery..." she said, and chewed her lip.

Chuck blinked and shook his head. "Cut that out," he whispered fiercely. "You're starting to make a spectacle of yourself."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and glanced down at her midriff-baring costume. "Starting to?" Chuck rolled his eyes and set down to work drawing the logo with magic marker. Then he drew two odd bumps underneath. Sarah frowned and cocked her head to one side. "What's that supposed to be?" Sarah asked.

Chuck grinned. "Changed my mind, it's the Super_girl_ logo now. Hence, the..." He cupped an imaginary pair on his own chest. Sarah pouted and wrinkled her brow at him. "What, not big enough?"

* * *

"Okay, everybody," Swanson said, "It's almost eight o'clock, so we need to get back for trick-or-treaters soon. The judges, by which I mean my wife Linda_,_ have tallied the votes, and this year's winner is..."

"The defending champions, the Nortons', weird... Picasso... thing."

Evan and Nellie went up to retrieve their prize, which was a bottle of middling priced wine. Chuck put an arm around his wife. "Hey, don't pout," he said. "We'll get them next year."

Sarah snuggled into the one-armed-hug and smirked. "You think we'll have time for Halloween parties next year?" she asked. "We'll have a three-or-four-month-old; I'm told they're slightly time-intensive."

Chuck's eyes widened. "I... wow," he said, "you're right... I guess it hadn't really sunk in yet."

The party broke up pretty quickly after that, but Chuck and Sarah were new to the Clarkdale Halloween-party-circuit and lagged behind. In just a few minutes, it was down to just the 'Murtaughs' and the 'Swansons,' though Evan and Nellie managed to trap Chuck and Sarah into accepting an invitation to dinner the next week.

Ron peered through the window near the door, and then turned the deadbolt and spun, a pistol appearing in his hand. Sarah's eyes went wide, and she took an instinctive step into position to kick the gun away. Swanson had the gun held securely in both hands, and Sarah froze. Her chances of disarming the man weren't awful, but a sudden thrill of fear shot down right to the depths of her soul. Risking her own life was one thing, but the baby. She couldn't risk her baby.

"Who sent you?" He demanded. "Stella, get something to tie them up with until I can get the Marshals over here."

"We have to run again?" Stella/Linda asked.

"Nobody sent us," Chuck said, drawing the barrel of Swanson's pistol away from Sarah's face. She used the opportunity to inch her hand over to the carving knife she'd been using earlier that night. "What are you talking about, what Marshals?"

"Like you don't know. Do I look like an idiot? I saw the way blondie there was using that knife earlier," Swanson grated. The gun flicked back over to Sarah. "Stay away from that table. I remember where you left your knife."

"This is all just a misunderstanding," Sarah said slowly. She glanced at Chuck and spotted the telltale flicker of his eyelids as he flashed. Dammit! If he Kung-Fu-ed the neighbor they would have to run, and the Murtaughs were the best cover documents Sarah had ever seen. The work that had gone into creating them out of whole cloth would take months to duplicate. She couldn't afford for Chuck to pick now to be her knight in shining armor, as much as the idea appealed in other circumstances; losing their cover here in Clarkdale was going to ruin everything.

"We're _with_ the Marshal Service." Sarah said, a plan forming. A risky, insane plan, but a plan nonetheless. Chuck's eyes widened, and he came out of the flash, jaw dropping. For a second she thought he was going to ruin it, say something that didn't fit, or go Kung-Fu crazy anyway, but the shock turned to a fairly decent approximation of annoyance.

"You're not supposed to tell him that," Chuck said, in an effort to play along. "Dammit, Sarah, this is our careers on the line."

"Hang on," Swanson said, lowering the gun a fraction. "What, seriously? You're Marshals? Ken didn't say anything about new surveillance."

Sarah shrugged. "We're not here as surveillance. We didn't even know you were Witsec until we got here; your wife's picture in the file is out of date. She changed her hair when you moved here, and I didn't recognize her when she came over to invite us to the party. We're here undercover investigating some counterfeit bills that passed through the local businesses recently. Ken gave us the heads up that he had a protectee in the area, but I didn't put two and two together until..."

"This is really embarrassing," Chuck said. "I hate to ask, but... could you forget we even had this conversation? I mean, blowing your cover like this is a real career killer, and we can't afford another black mark on our records."

Mrs. Swanson frowned. "Another?"

Sarah thought she saw where Chuck was going. "Well, the Marshal Service doesn't exactly do backflips when a pair of Deputy US Marshals run off and get married without telling anybody. This 'investigation' we're working is really just to keep us out of the way until they figure out what to do with us. The baby isn't exactly helping matters, from their perspective. If you get into trouble, don't hesitate to call, but..."

Ron nodded sagely. "No, I get it. You keep your mouth shut, and we'll do the same. I guess that explains your knife work, Mrs. Murtaugh... or is that even your real name?"

Sarah tapped the side of her nose with one finger and winked.

* * *

Once they made it out onto the darkened street, Sarah shivered, and Chuck whipped off his coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. Sarah grinned and tugged him in by the shirt for a quick smooch. "Is that cover really going to hold?" Chuck asked. "What if they mention us to Marshal Ken in passing?"

Sarah was silent for a while, thinking about it as they walked. "We can get started on a contingency plan, but I don't think it's a very likely possibility. Marshals working for Witsec don't really have a lot of contact with their charges, unless there's an actual threat. I doubt they'll even talk to him again for a year or more. We've got time." They made their way up the path through the horror-show Chuck had made of their front lawn, and through the door. An electronic scream sounded as soon as their feet hit the mat, and a life-size skeleton whooshed down on a zipline. After a few seconds, the airborne Mr. Skellington lurched back up out of sight.

Sarah shook her head and unlocked the door. It wasn't so much scary as it was funny. "I never expected him to pull a gun on us, though," she said. "He's pretty jumpy."

"_Pretty_ jumpy? When he pulled that gun I thought we were going to have to fight our way out. I can't believe we pulled that off!" Chuck laughed once the door was locked behind them. Sarah grinned and shed his coat, put it on the hook and shook out her cape. She slipped both hands up under her skirt and tugged.

"What about those?" she said, stepping out of the blue biker-shorts she'd worn under the flimsy skirt. "Can you believe I pulled _those_ off?" She stretched them out and shot them at him like a rubber band. "Come on, Brainy. Show me all those kinky sexual positions they have in the future."

Chuck gulped. "Uh... right here in the entryway?"

"Mmm... you're shy? That's okay." Sarah undid his pants with an expert twist of her fingers and sank in front of him. "I'll show you an old favorite of mine." She said, grinning up at him.

The scream of their novelty electronic doormat sounded, and then the doorbell rang a few seconds later. She froze and glanced up at Chuck in a panic. "Trick-or-Treaters?" She said, pulling away and blushing. "How did I forget about that?"

Chuck shrugged. "Well, you did seem fairly... dedicated just now." The doorbell clanged again. "You mind if I pull my pants up? This is almost exactly how a college friend of mine ended up on a sex offenders' registry. I mean, sure different costumes, but otherwise _remarkably_ similar..." Sarah glared and shot to her feet, shoved him, still babbling, into the hall closet and slammed the door shut. A second later, she opened the door again and stuffed her bike shorts into his hand, which was probably faster than trying to shimmy back into them in time to answer the door.

Sarah headed to the front door, first unlocking it, and then opening it with a flourish of her cape. They had staged a huge bucket of assorted candy by the door before heading out to the Swansons' party. "Trick or treat!" Half a dozen little kids shouted, no more than five years old. Their parents were standing in a knot back by the street, a fair number Sarah recognized from the party. Sarah grabbed the bowl of candy from the table next to the door and shoved it at them.

"Don't eat too much and make yourselves sick." She admonished them. After a chorus of 'we won't's that she could hardly take seriously from a pirate, a fairy princess, a ghost, a ninja turtle, and some kind of lightning-mouse monster she couldn't identify, Sarah closed the door on them, her candy-bucket light several surprisingly large handfuls. She grunted, opened the door and just put the bucket on the front step to avoid being interrupted again. With a grin, she closed the door one last time, slid the deadbolt home, and skipped over to the hall closet. Chuck glared at her when she opened the door.

"Well, that went well," he said, trying to walk back into the front hall. Sarah didn't budge. Chuck arched an eyebrow. "What's up?"

She shouldered him back into the hall closet and backed in, shutting the door behind her. "I just realized we hadn't christened this room yet. And who told you to put your pants back on?"

"The hall closet? Isn't it a little cramped in here?"

Sarah laughed and pulled the string to turn on the light. "In the future, some whole _apartments_ are smaller than this." She shimmied back into him and flipped her Supergirl-skirt up out of the way.

Chuck tore his eyes away with an effort of will and frowned for a moment before he could place her reference. "You're getting your 31st centuries mixed up; that's Futurama." He said, kissing her neck.

"I thought you were supposed to be a 12th-level intellect," Sarah smirked at him over her shoulder and waggled her rump. "Is that _really_ what you need to be concerned with right now?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Still a couple chapters in the hands of my beta reader, so maybe another chapter or two before the end of March.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: It feels weird being finished with my thesis, and just having the defense left. I feel... lighter somehow.

* * *

Chapter 36:

* * *

December 6th

Clarkdale, AZ

0900 MST

Morning sickness wasn't as bad as Sarah had imagined, or like she had seen on TV, and in bad movies. So long as she had some crackers or something right as she got up to keep her stomach from being empty for too long, she was okay, fine even, well... maybe not fine. She was still nauseated most days until early afternoon, but it seldom got too bad; she had only puked maybe once a week for the last month and a half, which was more than she used to do in a whole year or more, but still, she was doing better than the horror stories. She'd even managed to keep down the entirety of Thanksgiving dinner, and she'd never really been a fan of cranberry sauce _before _she had a tiny nausea inducing person living in her belly. Most of her butterflies at Thanksgiving had been involved with hosting her first Thanksgiving, even if it had just been her, Chuck, the Nortons, and the Swansons.

Today however, was one of the bad days. Sarah swiped her hand across her mouth and looked down into the toilet at most of her breakfast. It had looked better before it had been half-digested... aaaaand there went the rest of it. "Chuck!" She moaned when she regained the power of speech. "Chuck!"

The door flew open and Chuck tripped through, bounced off the bathroom counter, spun and skidded across the tiles to Sarah's feet. He coughed air back into his lungs. "You rang?"

"Are you okay?" She said in worry, and smiled when Chuck nodded vaguely. "Then, let's get out of here." She helped Chuck out of the bathroom and onto the sofa in the living room. The bed was dangerous territory, and looked entirely too inviting, especially with Chuck leaning against her side.

She really didn't feel like not kissing Chuck before, during, and after, which given her puke-breath at the moment, would be a little awkward for both of them. It would be more awkward for him of course, having to taste morning sickness-backwash, and that explained the trip to the sofa in the living room. Not that they couldn't have or hadn't _had_ sex on the couch, it just wasn't her prime Chuck-hunting ground.

"Let me get you some crackers," Chuck said, trying to get up mere moments after she planted him on the couch. Sarah grabbed him and pinned him down.

"Stay put, Bartowski," she commanded. "I'm pregnant, not disabled, which is more than I can say for you right now."

From the kitchen, Sarah heard the television come on, and rolled her eyes, but at least by the sound of it, he was watching the news, and not that damn Olivia Munn on G4 that he seemed to like so much. She knew it was irrational, that Chuck would never meet the brunette of Sarah's nightmares, basically his perfect woman, but the pregnancy hormones saw threats everywhere. Sarah drank down a full glass of water, grabbed the crackers and started munching away happily as she walked back in.

Chuck was flat on his back on the floor, having a seizure of some kind.

Sarah dropped her box of crackers and practically dove to the ground next to him, checking his pulse, and then his pupils. "Chuck. Chuck! Don't you do this to me."

He shuddered one last time and gasped a breath. "Sarah, what's wrong?"

"You had a seizure!"  
"What? No, it was just a flash. It's been a while and I forget to wear the Governor, sometimes," Chuck said.

"I'll go get it!" Sarah sprang to her feet and darted off to the bedroom.

"Wait—" Chuck started, but she was already out of earshot. Sarah returned quickly, and strapped the watch onto his wrist with a little more force than he suspected was strictly necessary.

"Don't forget this again, baby," Sarah said, poking him in the chest. "I mean it! No frying your brain. I like your brain like it is."

"Me too," Chuck snorted. "I keep forgetting I can flash on things from the TV."

"You flashed on the television? What was it?"

"There's an assassination attempt going to take place in three days."

"Who's the target?"

"He's still on," Chuck said softly and pointed. Sarah turned to the TV, where the President of the United States was fielding questions about his Medicaire reform plans.

Sarah sighed. "We're going to have to do something about this, aren't we?"

"It's the president, Sarah," Chuck said. "Of course we have to do something about it."

"Damn it," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose and kicking her legs uselessly. "As if things weren't complicated enough."

Once Sarah's morning sickness had faded to the background nausea she'd become accustomed to over the last few weeks, they sat down at the kitchen table for a mission-planning session, Sarah nibbling crackers when her stomach rumbled.

"This is the thing I didn't plan ahead for Chuck... well, one of the two," she said, pointing down at her ladyparts. "The Murtaughs are our permanent cover, so we can't risk burning them. We can't do anything to make the NSA come sniffing around Arizona, much less Clarkdale, so, we need to figure out a way to contact them —warn them about the threat— without compromising our location. I can't go through my CIA contacts without admitting I'm 'on vacation' with a missing agent or asset or whatever Beckman's calling you these days. We need to get somewhere far away from here, using throwaway identities, make the call, burn those identities, and then escape back here."

"Email."

"What?"

"It's harder to trace. I know how to reroute my IP address, so, I can bounce the thing halfway across the country, but if I screw up, you're right: we can't lead them back here. Also, you can't go to the internet cafe I'm going to use, because they could eventually trace the email back there, and check the security cameras."

Sarah beamed at him. "Nice catch, Chuck. I was getting there. I have one or two more throwaway identities for you to use on this trip. Owen Masterson is the first one."

"Owen?" Chuck said and frowned. "I really look like an Owen?"

"That's why its a throwaway, Chuck."

"Okay, but how do we know if they take our warning seriously or not?"

"Use codewords from the files. We can work out the exact wording of the email on the flight."

"What flight?"

* * *

Sarah drove to the municipal airport, even though it physically hurt her to go only five miles per hour over the speed limit. She didn't have her CIA credentials to fall back on, though, if she got pulled over, and there was the baby to think about, which made her smile, and rest her hand on her belly. It was still flat, but how long could that last? Her workout regimen was becoming ridiculously difficult, and she'd already cut it back to thirty minutes a day. She should be making the most of the last couple of months without a baby bump, like they had been doing the last few weeks, not flying across the country worrying about assassins. But it was the president, and damn it, that meant something.

Chuck snaked his hand across to cup her hand. "Little Bartowski causing problems in there?"

She laughed. "No, not yet, sweetie; he's the size of a macadamia nut."

"That's oddly specific."

"I found a chart online," she said, and shrugged. "Average size at eight weeks is .63 inches."

"Hang on. He?"

Sarah frowned and shrugged. "I'm hopeful."

"Let's just hope he takes after his mother. Kid doesn't need to go through life getting picked last for everything."

She smiled and tousled his hair. "I'm sure that isn't true. Didn't you go to school with Morgan?"

"Okay Miss I-have-to-be-right-about-everything, second to last."

"Hey, I wasn't picked any sooner than you at sports, sweetie." Sarah said a little defensively. "I was in the chess club, remember? You saw my yearbook picture."

"I know, Queen of the Nerds. That's why I married you."

Sarah stopped briefly at the security checkpoint and showed her credentials. They were waved in with hardly a second glance.

"_That's _why you married me?" she said, glaring at him as she pulled into a parking space by her rented hanger. "Because I was queen of the nerds in high school?"

"Well, that, and the Leia outfits, and the 'Frak Off' t-shirt. What, do you want the whole list? It's probably the size of a phone book."

They didn't really have time for much more than a quick peck, but Sarah grabbed a handful of his curls and tugged him into a brief but passionate kiss. "Good answer," she breathed, pressing her forehead against his gently.

"So, where are we going?" Chuck asked once he caught his breath.

"Lubbock, Texas to start. Bowie Municipal Airport. It's just inside our mid-range profile, so we won't have to refuel there before heading back."

"Is it smart for us to go back to Texas? That's were you sent me to ditch surveillance the first time."

"Texas is a big place, honey. If anything, this'll just make NSA put more focus there, and we won't be coming back."

Chuck grabbed their overnight bags, and hopped out. "Okay, you get hotel reservations?"

"Motel 6 doesn't do reservations."

"Motel 6?" Chuck winced. "Really?"

"Come on, don't you want to reenact Barstow?" Sarah said, looking at him through her eyelashes. "Without worrying about any... complications." Chuck stumbled briefly.

"Don't do that when I'm walking."

"Do what?" she smirked. Sarah rolled her eyes at the expression on Chuck's face and went around to the trunk for her backup kit.

"You want me to carry that?" Chuck called.

Sarah thought about it for a second. "I thought you didn't like guns."

"It looks like a bass guitar case," Chuck protested. "What gun?"

"Since when do I play guitar?" Sarah said, frowning. "It's a Remington 700 hunting rifle. I bought it last week while you were at the comic store. Come on, grab the suitcase, and I'll take you through the pre-flight checklist, once we stow our luggage."

Chuck whistled, looking at the fancy screens and dials and switches. "So, how much did this set us back?" He reached out to fiddle with one of settings knobs, and Sarah grabbed his wrist.

"Don't touch that," she said.

"How much?"

Sarah shrugged. "Not too much. I got a pretty good deal. 450."

"Four hundred fifty..."

"Thousand dollars."

"And you didn't lock it?" Chuck demanded, his voice nearly cracking.

"Didn't really see the point," Sarah chuckled. "A lot of planes don't even _have_ locks, Chuck. The fence and the armed guard _and_ the hangar being locked are usually enough to keep the average petty thief away, and Grand Theft Airplane isn't exactly easy to pull off. Controllers would probably take issue with somebody filing a flight plan for a stolen plane, and without one, you'd have to fly under the radar the whole way to wherever you were going. Knap-of-the-Earth flying isn't exactly a common skill. Not to mention, the market in stolen airplanes just isn't there to warrant the theft anyway."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so go get the chocks and we can start her up."

"The what?"

"The yellow blocks under the wheels."

"Right."

Sarah showed Chuck where to stow them and then they were almost ready. "Put on your headset."

"Tower, this is N424Bravo requesting takeoff clearance."

"424Bravo, I have you for an 11:00 takeoff. You're a little early, but we don't have anybody else in the pattern right now. Taxi over to runway one."

Sarah throttled up and surged the Corvair out of the hangar she was renting, turned right onto the taxiway and coasted down to the runway.

"Who you got aboard, 424Bravo?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Just me and the hubby, Jimbo."

"You're breaking hearts up here 424Bravo. Is it serious?"

Sarah laughed but didn't key her mic to reply. "Jimbo?" Chuck asked incredulously. "You're on a first-name basis with the controllers?"

Sarah frowned, and then her expression turned on a dime and the grinned toothily. "Are you jealous? That's so cute!"

Chuck blushed. "Can they hear us?"

"Sorry, baby, my headset's got the only link to the tower, and it's off right now. Don't worry, I'll handle him." She keyed her mic. "This isn't going to be a problem, is it, Tower? My boy here gets jealous ever since he knocked me up."

"Just tell me he's not tall dark and handsome too."

"6'3", One eighty five, brown hair, brown eyes, and a killer left hook."

"Alas, I am defeated. Cleared for takeoff, 424Bravo."

"What the hell was that?" Chuck said, fuming quietly.

"FAA flirting," Sarah explained with a shrug. "You get used to it."

"I need to set these guys straight about flirting with _my_ woman."

"'Your woman'?" Sarah said, arching an eyebrow. Chuck shrugged and grinned. Sarah narrowed her eyes and jammed the throttle all the way to the stop, snapping Chuck back in his seat as they shot down the runway.

"Going a little fast there, 424Bravo..."

"Hubby back-talked me," Sarah explained.

"Understood, 424Bravo," The controller said with a laugh. "We'll hand you off to Albuquerque tower in two hours, Cottonwood Tower out." Sarah hauled back on the yoke once they reached her threshold groundspeed and the plane leapt into the air.

"Whoa!" Chuck said, drawing it out as they shot up past the tower.

"Look over there on the left, baby," Sarah's voice came through his headphones. "That's Mingus Mountain, one of the biggest in the Sonoras."

"Doesn't look like much," Chuck said. Sarah took one hand off the yoke to punch him in the arm.

"Don't badmouth Mingus Mountain," she said.

"What's up?" Chuck said, rubbing his arm. It hadn't been a playful punch, like the ones she usually gave.

"Last place I remember going with my mom and my sister was Mingus Mountain."

"Oh."

There was silence but for the sound of the engine for several minutes until Sarah leveled off at eight thousand feet and set the autopilot. "Okay," she said, "spit it out."

"I thought your sister was part of the Walker cover legend," Chuck said.

Sarah sighed. "Nope, she's real. We haven't really seen each other since then, though. Mom and Dad split, and I went with dad. She went with mom."

"A judge gave your dad custody?"

"Not exactly," Sarah said. "He didn't kidnap me, though, which is what you're thinking. I got to choose."

"You don't talk about your mom or your sister a lot," Chuck paused, "or your dad for that matter, but I met him, so I kind of get it."

"She died," Sarah said, so softly he almost couldn't make it out through the plane's intercom. "While I was on a mission. When I didn't get to the funeral, my sister stopped returning my calls, emails, everything. She just cut off contact."

"I'm so sorry," Chuck said, putting his hand on her knee.

"Don't be. It's not like I can just call her up _now_. Nothing to do about it."

"You couldn't use your CIA contacts to get her a message?"

"And say what? No, it's better to leave it a clean break."

Chuck leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm sorry you had to run because of me."

She smiled softly and pressed a hand to her stomach. "Don't be. I got a new family out of the bargain."

He grinned, and she couldn't resist kissing him, hands tugging him closer by the collar. Chuck finally pulled away in a panic. "Who's flying the plane?"

Sarah laughed and sat back in her seat. "Don't worry. We're on autopilot."  
"Okay."

"Just don't touch anything, and we'll continue to fly level and straight." Sarah glanced at him through hooded eyes. "In fact," she went on slyly as she flicked a switch. "Now that your side of the cabin is locked out of the controls... you can squirm all you want." One hand tugged his shirt up out of the way, so the other could dip into the front of his jeans.

"Sarah, whoa, what are you doing?"

She licked her lips. "I think you'll figure it out."

"Whoa, God!" Chuck groaned as her hands worked to open his fly. "This is really dangerous. I've seen the statistics on this kind of thing in cars, and it's a really bad idea _then_... on the ground, I can't imagine how much worse it would be at three thousand feet..."

"Cars don't have autopilot..." Sarah said before stripping her headset off. Chuck continued to babble, but Sarah shrugged and waved at her ears helplessly, put on a brief brainless airhead performance, and kissed him once on the cheek before dipping her head further.

"Oh God," Chuck managed to get out. He had married a crazy woman.

* * *

When Chuck finally overcame his nerves at the situation and let himself concentrate on what she was doing to him, Sarah finished him off in short order. She grinned at him and wiped her chin before putting her headset back on.

"I'm married to a crazy woman," Chuck said. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Welcome to the Mile High Club," she said. "And before you ask, I'm not a member yet."

"Yet?"

"Come on, you're not going to reciprocate?"  
"Not in a _plane!_"

Sarah pouted at him for about five minutes straight, but Chuck showed no sign of relenting. "Seriously?" Sarah said, adjusting the trim lever a little to take them over some turbulence. "Cause we're not going to be on any commercial flights anytime soon, and I don't want people to think we joined separately."

"You realize the Mile High Club is completely unofficial, and our house is at fifty-three hundred feet of elevation, so technically..."

"Not going to cut it buster, and it's actually at _thirty-_three hundred feet."

Three hours of flying later, Sarah radioed in to Bowie Municipal Airport and landed easily, despite still giving Chuck angry-pouts every couple of minutes. She thought she was wearing him down, but they'd be at the Motel in another half an hour, so it was a moot point. That didn't mean she was going to stop, though.

They paid cash for the room, having withdrawn just under the one-day limit that would trigger a federal Currency Transaction Report. $9,500 should give them plenty of wiggle room, and Sarah had taken the added precaution of making certain the bank gave them non-sequential bills. It would have drawn attention, but Sarah had a way about her when she turned on the charm, and thankfully, the teller had been too dazzled by her smile to think anything of the request.

* * *

The next morning, Chuck took a cab to the nearest Starbucks' and used the same iPod Touch Sarah had bought him when they ran from Burbank to sign up for a free email account—CB4DBeckman— and send a message to the NSA's tipline. Chuck put in a couple of keywords, talking about the _intersection_ of the president's schedule with that of a known domestic terror group, and working the words 'ring' and 'fulcrum' into it. He put in a post-script as well, per Sarah's instructions.

_**P.S. I'm staying off the grid until I hear from Sarah or Casey through pre-agreed-upon channels. Sorry for the inconvenience. Tell Sarah to contact me. I miss her.**_

With that little nugget of misdirection planted, he used a nifty little program he'd built at Stanford to route the IP through six different randomization protocols before routing it through eight different cities, from Lubbock to London, Rome, Cairo, and a few other places in which they'd never set foot. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Then, he caught a cab to the Texas Tech campus and met her for lunch before they went back to the motel in a stolen car. From the motel, Chuck had the front desk call a cab to meet him, and Sarah drove her stolen car back to where she'd got it. They took the cab from there to the Holiday Inn, halfway across town from their first place.

"So, now we wait until what, exactly?" Chuck said, still a little fuzzy on the plan.

"Hopefully, Beckman will pass the information along, and Secret Service will alter the President's schedule, or something..."

"And how will we know that they did that?" Chuck asked. "Do you think Beckman will try to email me back?"

"We watch the news and see if you flash again."

"That's it? Isn't there anything more we can do?"

"Not without compromising ourselves," Sarah said, "I know it's not an ideal situation, but I don't want to risk getting caught."

"Until then, we just wait? Won't the NSA be all over town in the next couple days?"

"I thought you said you rerouted your IP address. How long should it take them to see through that?"

"A day or two at least, and that's if they manage to figure out all the randomization algorithms pretty quickly"

"By then, we'll either know the NSA is handling it properly, or we'll be headed to Cinci to take out the assassin ourselves. Until then, it's not like Lubbock is known for it's scintillating night life, so why don't we stay in, and order room service?" her rendition of the Bartowski eyebrow dance was certainly getting better. "I'm sure we could get some chocolate-covered strawberries..."

Chuck grinned. "Twist my arm why don't you?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is scheduled for the 25th. Now to get cranking on Chuck vs. the frontier. As always, I really appreciate any kind of feedback.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: Thesis defense went well. I didn't fail. (There were only two possible outcomes.) So maybe now I can fix all the stuff that isn't working in the next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 37: Chuck and Sarah vs Themselves (and others)

* * *

December 8

Cincinnati, Ohio

2200 CST

"Chuck," Sarah said, shaking him, "wake up. It's your turn to drive."

Chuck started awake, every muscle in his body tensing as his eyes tracked around, searching the unfamiliar interior of the ratty used car they'd purchased with $300 cash once Sarah had landed the Corvair. It was a matter of tradecraft, Sarah had explained. Renting a car would expose them to security cameras and credit checks, and it was safer all around to purchase a cheap used car, which they would abandon once the mission was complete... or so Sarah said. Chuck wasn't convinced. Their purchase was an old Cutlass Supreme with no airbags and a bare minimum of the safety features Chuck would normally have demanded of transport for his wife and unborn child. The exterior had once been green, but rust discolored what looked like half the bodywork that wasn't made up of Bondo. On the 'bright' side, it did have a totally boss Styx 8-track stuck in the player. The engine worked, at least, though they were spending more on fuel than Chuck felt was reasonable. This mission was on a shoestring budget, given their hotel rooms in Lubbock, renting hangar space now at a second municipal airport, this one in a small town near the border between Ohio and Indiana. It was adding up quickly, eating into their funds, and he was becoming worried they'd end up stranded with no money to get home. He shook budgetary concerns out of his head. They were at a gas station in a large city, which he assumed was Cincinnati. It was about the right time.

"You okay?" Chuck said. Sarah shoved the keys into his hand and hauled herself out, knuckling her back. Chuck poked his head out the window. "Sarah, what's up?" he said, jingling the keys.

She leaned against the Cutlass and raked her fingers through her hair. "Don't worry, just carsick."

This wasn't particularly reassuring. "You, carsick?" he asked, barely hiding his disbelief.

Sarah glared at him and sighed. "Fine, it's not carsickness. It's stupid morning sickness, which is all _your _fault by the way for knocking me up in the first place."

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time," Chuck quipped.

She ignored it. "I need some crackers or something."

"Oh, right," Chuck said, and turned to root through the back seat. "I packed supplies: crackers, some Funyuns, a bunch of grapes, and some caffeine free sodas," Chuck frowned, "none of which are anywhere to be found..."

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish bob of her shoulder. "I got the munchies while you were asleep."

Chuck grinned. "You or the baby?"

Sarah found herself grinning back, despite her bilious stomach. His grin was as infectious as ever. "Probably a little bit of both," she said. Sarah snorted a laugh and then instantly regretted it when her stomach lurched.

"You want me to go grab you something from the Foodmart?"

Sarah turned suddenly. "No!" she said in a fierce whisper. "Security cameras, Chuck: bad idea."

Chuck frowned and shook his head. "You weren't worried about that before? Won't they be able to spot us on the tapes from that gas station a couple hours ago?"

"Only if they subpoena the security tapes from every gas station in the state, which is highly unlikely, but we're finally in Cincinnati. Every place in the city isn't much easier to do, but it's not completely outside the realm of possibility."

"Isn't that a little paranoid?"

There was a twinkle in her eyes. "You're not paranoid when they really are out to get you, babe. And the question you should be asking is 'am I paranoid _enough_?'"

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Babe?"

Sarah shrugged. "I was trying it out. No good?" She grinned and slid across the hood before he could respond, opening his door and shoving him across into the driver's seat.

Chuck used the opportunity to pull her into his arms and plant a kiss on her, but Sarah shimmied out of his grasp. "What's wrong?"

"PDA attracts attention, scootch over," she said.

"Come on," Chuck complained, situating himself behind the wheel. "You're being beyond paranoid. I like taking care of you, and now, I can't even get you snacks or make out with you a little?"

"Just drive," Sarah said, squeezing his knee to soften the sharp tone of voice she used. She hadn't meant to snap at him, and Chuck followed orders with only minor grumbling, pulling out of the gas station. "We need to find the seediest motel we can, one that hopefully doesn't have security cameras in the parking lot."

They drove in silence for a few minutes. "What about that one?" Chuck said, pointing. "There's a sign for hourly rates, probably means no cameras?"

"Yeah, looks promising," Sarah said and opened the glovebox for her S&W while he was still turning into the parking lot. Chuck arched an eyebrow but didn't say anything when she ejected the clip, checked that it was fully loaded, reloaded and slipped the weapon into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back.

"Worried the clerk is going to get fresh with you?" He said.

Sarah rolled her eyes fondly. "Yes," she said deadpan. "That's it, exactly. I'm definitely not being paranoid again, definitely not."

"Knock 'em dead, sweetie," Chuck said. "Only, you know... not _dead _dead. We're trying to keep a low profile, you said. I should probably go pay for the room," he said in realization. "You'll stand out like a sore thumb. I should as least come in there with you."

Sarah shook her head. "Nuh-uh," she said and levered the passenger door open. "I put the odds on the lobby camera actually working at 50/50, and if the NSA figures out we were here, hotel tapes will be the first thing they go after. Too risky to get caught on surveillance feeds together."

"Wow," Chuck said. "You are really _super _par—"

"If you call me paranoid again, I'm cutting you off for a week."

Chuck locked his mouth shut theatrically, and Sarah laughed, striding for the bullet-proof glass enclosure where the night clerk was absent-mindedly watching a wall-mounted television. He kept the motor running, and Sarah came back a few minutes later. "Any problems?"

Sarah gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I ever tell you how great it is knowing that you aren't just with me because of my looks?"

"It may have come up in passing," Chuck said. "Gross flirts?"

"I'm going to boil the room keys once we're inside," Sarah explained, tossing them on the dash. "My instincts tell me I don't want to know where they've been. He picks his nose with impunity as well."

Chuck wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ugh, this is one of those times I wish I didn't trust your instincts like I do. Did you scope the cameras?"

Sarah nodded and scrubbed her hands on her jeans. "The monitor was in plain view. Two in the lobby, one pointed across the parking lot at the ATM outside the check-cashing place, and one more covering the vending machines. Signal was grainy, probably still using an old VHS system. We should be good here."

"Leave the guns in the car?" Chuck inquired, and Sarah shook her head.

"No way," she said, "I don't like the look of those two standing by the lobby."

Chuck glanced in the rearview mirror. "What about them? Which ones?"

"White, mid-twenties," Sarah craned her head, and pointed, despite the breach in tradecraft. "Probably junkies, meth most likely," she went on. "One of them propositioned me on the way into the lobby."

"What?" Chuck said.

"Hey," Sarah shrugged it off. "It's a pay-by-the-hour dive motel; you really want to leave the ordnance in a car trunk held together with twine and a prayer?"

"That's not what I was asking 'what' about," Chuck said.

Sarah patted him gently on the shoulder. "I know. I was trying to change the subject." She frowned and leaned forward to peer out the windshield. "I think that's our room. 221, second from the end of the building." They ferried their bags and the black, matte plastic guncase up into the room quickly, still, not as quickly as Chuck would have hoped, but Sarah insisted that overt hurry would stand out to anyone who happened to see them.

Once in the room, Chuck and Sarah took stock of the situation, which was worse than expected. A roach skittered across the carpet and stopped, seeming to peer up at them quizzically for a moment before resuming its trek without the slightest change in velocity or trajectory. Sarah growled and sprang, stomping the insect before it could traverse the expanse of grungy carpet.

"Well," Chuck said, "you did want the seediest motel you could find, so congratulations."

Sarah shrugged. "I've seen worse."

"I don't believe you," Chuck shot back as a second roach made its way out from under an improperly tacked down corner of the carpet, completely unconcerned by its brethren's untimely demise.

"Well, I'm not saying it's not in the top five," Sarah said. "Seriously though, we need to talk."

"Uh-oh," Chuck said. "That's never a good way to start a conversation."

"Sit down," she said, plopping the gun case down on the table. Sarah popped the latches and pulled out a long, rolled-up document of some kind, blueprints maybe. She was careful to relatch the guncase and set it on the floor out of the way before spreading out the rolled-up paper.

"Where did you get that?" Chuck wanted to know.

"You were asleep in the car, and you looked so cute that I didn't want to wake you," Sarah explained. "I broke into the hall of records and swiped this. It's the blueprints for the plaza where the president is giving his speech. What exactly do you remember from the flash?"

Chuck had listed it all down on a notepad before they left Arizona, and pulled it out of his traveling bag. The potential assassin's name —Gus something— some vital statistics, like height, weight, hair color, eye color, left handed not right. "We've been over this; what's up?"

"Something isn't sitting right with me on this one. It's been what, four months since your last Intersect refresher, right?"

Chuck thought about it. "Yeah, that sounds about right. It was a few weeks before we ran, just before the stuff with Shaw went pineapple shaped. What's up?"

"The NSA and the CIA have this data, too," Sarah said, thinking aloud, "they have for months. Can you tell me what triggered the flash? It's just odd, isn't it, that you would flash on the TV coverage of the president, and there's information on this plot in the Intersect? And there has been for months? That's enough time they might have already stopped it, and we wouldn't know because your information could be out of date. They'd try to keep it out of the papers most likely."

"I didn't think of that," Chuck said. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Sarah shook her head, upset with herself. "I'm just not used to the idea the Intersect could be wrong. Neither are you, it's been right so often that I just never thought of it. There's something else."

"Go on," Chuck said. "What's up?"

"This could all be an elaborate trap, for you," Sarah explained. "And me as well, 'cause I doubt Beckman and Casey stopped looking for me just because Myers let me take a leave of absence. If they already _caught _this guy, with at least four months lead-time, we have to assume its at least a possibility—I worked with Secret Service for a while. I know they're really good on the investigative side, as well as the president-protecting side—so what if they've already caught this guy? Beckman could be staking out potential trouble-spots that have already been taken care of on the chance you'll flash and come in working off of out-of-date intel."

"Okay," Chuck said. His blood had gone cold. "If that's true, though, how do we know? How can we test it? If they _haven't _caught this guy, and we don't try to stop him... I don't know if I can live with that."

"I know, Chuck," Sarah said, "and that's the problem. We're our own worst enemy here, and Beckman knows it. That thing in Chicago will have clinched it for her and Casey. If it had been me, I probably would have done the same thing. We just can't help ourselves."

"I guess... we could just go back home and try to forget about this?"

Sarah's grin was a sad one. "I don't buy that for a minute," Her hand fell unconsciously to her stomach. "I don't think I could take having to explain to Chuck Jr. how Mom and Dad let the President get killed, could you?"

"Chuck Jr?" Chuck Sr. asked. "Did we decide on that? What if it's a girl?" his eyes narrowed. "Did you find out something and haven't told me?"

Sarah laughed briefly, "Chuck, remember?" She held up her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "Macadamia nut." She shook her head. "I don't have any inside information, trust me."

"Of course," Chuck said, and chewed his lip after a moment. "Sorry for getting sidetracked. "How can we know if we're saving the president, or walking into a trap?"

Sarah pointed to the blueprints. "That's why I grabbed these," she said, pulling a Sharpie marker from her purse. "If they're in a standard deployment," she explained, "there should be Secret Service sharpshooters here, here, here, here, and... here. Or something similar."

Chuck whistled softly through his teeth at the marks she made on the blueprints. "That's a lot of snipers. Would we really make that much of a difference?"

Sarah nodded. "I recognized the name," she said. "Gus Berentz. That's why we're here."

"You did?" Chuck asked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Bryce and I worked with him once," she said as if the words were being drawn out of her. "It's not exactly a cherished memory."

Chuck reached across the table and they linked fingers. "What happened?"

Sarah let out a long sigh and looked him in the eye. "He went rogue, tried to kill us. It's not..."

"What's wrong?" Chuck said. "If you don't want to tell me you don't have to—"

"Bryce and I were in bed at the time," Sarah said a little peevishly. "I try not to rub past relationships in your face, so I didn't want to say anything."

"Oh," Chuck said, and that was all. He fell worrisomely silent.

"... anyway, Berentz is nearly as good as Casey with a sniper rifle. The Secret Service is set up for a standard threat. Some idiot with a deer rifle, not a military-trained sniper," Sarah said. "Or if we get there and spot them in this formation," Sarah tapped the map of the plaza, "they are. We can eyeball that tomorrow morning, but Berentz could maybe make that shot from better than a mile, if he had the right kind of hardware. Setting up a perimeter like that would be all but impossible downtown in a major urban center. There just isn't the manpower to cover every possible sniper perch with line of sight to the target."

"So, we need, what, three plans, right?" Chuck said. Sarah frowned at him, so he went on. "One in case they're not alerted to this guy, one in case they are, and one in case he's already caught, and they're setting up on _us._" Sarah nodded, but she was still frowning. "What's wrong, you're frowning at me."

"You want to talk about Bryce," Sarah said accusingly, "but you're closing me out. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, I'm not," Chuck said. "I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. It's the past, you know how weird _my _relationship with Bryce was, and _your _relationship with him wasn't any simpler, and so can we just set it aside? I need to concentrate on this mission."

Sarah nodded. "I know... just. I know you're not okay with what happened. Part of you still thinks I was going to run off with Bryce, and that with him getting shot, I just sort of ended up with you by default."

"I don't think that," Chuck protested. "Bryce told me that himself before he died. He said you weren't coming with him."

Sarah nodded. She hadn't known that. "Good for him," she said. "I wasn't. I don't think I ever told you that, did I?"

Chuck grinned slowly. "No, I don't think you did. I kind of figured you weren't going anywhere after that though. That whole 'if you want to keep it, put a ring on it,' speech really stuck with me."

Sarah blushed. "I still can't believe I actually said that," she said, fighting back giggles. Finally, she mastered the impulse. "Don't bottle things up, okay? I know exactly how unhealthy that is."

Chuck nodded, "Yeah, but when you finally let go, you _really _let go. That part was fun."

Sarah's eyes twinkled and dipped down to her stomach briefly. "But not without consequences." She chewed her lower lip and toyed with her hair. "Although, now that I'm already pregnant, we don't have to worry about birth control anymore..."

Chuck blinked. "Hey, no fair! No distracting me, we've got a mision to plan out."

"We've got," Sarah checked her watch, "ten hours before we need to head out for the speech," she said. "I think we can spare _one_ of those if I get you too 'distracted.'"

Chuck growled under his breath. "You are a dangerous woman," he said, "in more ways than one. No tomfoolery, this is serious business here!"

"So is this," Sarah protested and unbuttoned the buttons at the top of her polo shirt. Chuck immediately reached over, pulled the collar closed, and started re-buttoning Sarah's shirt. This was part of her plan, of course, and Chuck fell for it hook line and sinker. She grabbed his wrists and applied an Aikido technique. Chuck blinked and found himself pinned to the table, Sarah astride him.

"You know, when you're right, you're right," Chuck managed to mumble out the side of his mouth while Sarah kissed him.

* * *

It was closer to two hours before they got back to planning. Given the grungy nature of the motel room, Chuck and Sarah both needed a shower afterward, which they still couldn't seem to keep under forty-five minutes. Despite the motel's hot water giving out after ten minutes. Chuck and Sarah stayed up late so Sarah could run Chuck through a crash course in the methodology of the Secret Service; although her knowledge was several years out of date, there wasn't a whole lot that had changed in that time. They didn't use the bed, after Chuck mentioned seeing some special on TV a few years ago about motel beds. Sarah doubted it was as bad as Chuck thought, but oddly enough the bathroom was the only part of the room that seemed to have benefited from cleaning recently, so they dumped their spare clothes into the tub as padding and curled up atop it. Sarah awoke to find herself being poked in the back by her husband as usual, but they were both too stiff in other ways to do anything about it.

Chuck was shuffling in a pained circle around the carpet in his stocking feet when there was banging on the door. He was still hunched over like an old man, but he made for the door. Sarah beat him to it, S&W appearing as if by magic in her fist. She tried to shoulder him out of the way and answer the door herself, but Chuck glanced through the peephole before she could close properly.

Sarah glared and poked him in a pressure point in his back that straightened him up with a muffled curse. She grabbed his ear painfully and went up on her tiptoes to whisper harshly in his ear. "Didn't I teach you anything? Look from the side of the peephole, to make sure its not an enemy agent on the other side waiting to shoot you!"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "It's the clerk," he whispered. "I recognize him from last night. Probably just wants to make sure we're checking out."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "No, he probably thinks I'm fresh meat, and don't have a pimp so he can muscle me out of my night's earnings."

Chuck blinked rapidly, trying to catch up to that leap in logic. "Do what now?"

"It's a pay by the hour motel, Chuck," Sarah hissed. "What else is he going to think?" she waved her pistol vaguely. "I'll handle this; you stay out of sight."

Chuck fumed silently, but did as she said, hunching down to the far side of the door so that he would be behind the door when it opened. Sarah kept the chain latched, keeping the door between herself and the motel clerk.

The man wasted no time. "Business do okay? I give a lot of the girls a discount on rooms if they're repeat customers."

"Not interested," Sarah said. "I'm just passing through."

"You sure? I got an arrangement here with some guys, for protection, like," the clerk said. "Ain't gonna cost much on your end. I can make sure you get treated real nice." Chuck's fists balled tightly from his hiding place behind the door.

Sarah glanced at him and knew she needed to end this fast. Her husband was many things, but good at following orders he was not, especially in this sort of a situation. She nudged him with her hip and shot him a sharp look and a shake of her head. Thankfully, the motel clerk was too busy trying to stare straight through the weave of her t-shirt. "I said no and I mean no," she said, starting to close the door in his face. The man put his foot in the gap between the closing door and the frame.

"Now, don't be like that, girly," the man leered. "Hand out a couple freebies, and you got this place for the whole week, free and clear." Sarah grit her teeth. She pulled back the hammer of her S&W and tilted it so the clerk could see, before pointing it vaguely south of the man's belt buckle.

"Five seconds, and I make you a Castrati," Sarah said.

"You want to explain that to the cops?" the clerk said challengingly, and Sarah laughed.

"They're your balls," she said, pulling the silencer from her jeans pocket and screwing it into place, outside of the clerk's field of vision. Sarah had a change of heart at the last moment, and dropped the barrel of her pistol still lower before squeezing the trigger. The silencer was a good one, but she hadn't stopped to replace her standard hollowpoint rounds with subsonic variants so that only the sound of the semi-automatic's slide clicking back and forth would be heard. It was distinctly the sound of a gunshot, though muffled effectively enough that no one outside of a hundred yards would hear it.

Chuck shot to his feet. "What did you do?"

The clerk staggered back ward, screaming his head off and clutching his foot. Sarah held up a hand for silence and shoved Chuck back down next to the door. She dropped to one knee, pistol in both hands in a secure firing position, facing into their room.

"What's going—"

Two men came out of the bathroom, to Chuck's astonishment, one with a sawed-off shotgun, the other carrying a baseball bat. They were more surprised, when Sarah's silver-plated pistol barked again. The crack as her bullets went supersonic was a counterpoint to their sudden screams of pain. She ignored one particularly ingrained part of her training, and didn't place her shots center-mass, partially in deference to Chuck's sensibilities on the subject, and partially because if they didn't get out of here before the police showed up, three dead bodies were a lot harder to explain that three mildly shot-up dirtbags. Sarah's hands moved almost automatically after the split-second's decision _not _to kill them, and she squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession, putting two bullets into the arm of the man with the shotgun. The wannabe-Reds player charged, and Chuck lunged forward to meet him, with a smoothness that meant he had flashed. Sarah just stopped her trigger finger from squeezing a third time while Chuck was obscuring her sight picture.

Chuck grabbed a chair from the table and flipped it upside down so that the four legs stuck out like the prongs of a fork. The man with the baseball bat swung, and Chuck caught the length of oak easily, snapping his wrists to trap the other man's weapon more fully. He yanked the chair to the side and the baseball bat went flying. Chuck took another step forward and thrust the chair in front of him like a lion-tamer. One of the chair-legs poked the now unarmed man in the solar plexus and he toppled backward, and fell over his compatriot, who was on his knees, clutching at his wounded arm and trying to reach for the dropped shotgun.

Chuck plowed ahead and slammed the chair down, plopping himself into the seat above the gunshot man and kicking the shotgun away. Sarah grabbed Chuck by a handful of curly hair and pointed her gun at the sprawling former wielder of a louisville slugger, growling angrily in her husband's ear. "Don't ever jump in front of someone shooting a firearm again, Chuck. I almost _shot _you!"

He blinked and looked sheepish. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Just..." Chuck shook his head. "What the hell's going on? How did you know these two would be—"

Sarah shook her head. "No time. We'll talk in the car. Grab something to tie them up; we've got to move _now_."

Chuck glanced around and spotted a lamp. He yanked it out of the wall and Sarah tossed him a knife; Chuck cut the cord free and used it to tie the hands of the one who'd come in with the baseball bat. Sarah had the other man pinned to the floor with the tip of her silencer in the back of his neck, so Chuck darted to the bed and started a cut with Sarah's knife. In short order the two men were bound. Chuck scampered around, throwing things into bags and heading for the front door.

Sarah stopped him, and hoisted the cased rifle. "Bathroom," she explained, leading the way. Chuck frowned but followed. There was now a hole in the wall with drywall dust everywhere, leading into the adjoining room.

"What?" Chuck said helplessly.

Sarah grunted. "For future reference, the next time I say we need a seedy motel," she said, taking in the entirety of their room with a shrug. "This is too seedy. Come on." She got down on her hands and knees to crawl through the hole that had been gouged through the sheet-rock behind the cabinet that hid the sink piping, shoving her gun case ahead of her. Chuck followed, lugging the rest of their bags behind him. Sarah helped him to his feet and led the way through a mirror image of the room they had just left, though empty and mostly-empty pizza boxes, beer bottles and cigarette butts ruined what little charm their previous accommodations had had.

She rushed to the door and peered through the peephole from the side, as she'd admonished him about earlier. The clerk was no longer screaming, and Sarah put her head to the wall, cupping her hand to help channel the sound. She would have grabbed one of the empty tumblers strewn about, but she didn't trust them to be clean. The sound of a door cracking and the chain parting told her all she needed to know, and Sarah led the way out onto the upper floor of the motel balcony, tugging Chuck behind her at a run. They were down the stairs and throwing everything in the Cutlass by the time the clerk figured out their end-around. Sarah spotted the gun in the man's hand and crouched, using the car for cover to squeeze off a pair of rounds. The range was long for a pistol, especially with the silencer, but the clerk dove back into cover and Sarah slipped into the passenger seat while Chuck started the engine.

He yanked the wheel over and their tires squealed as they burned rubber out of the parking lot. "What the hell was that?" Chuck shouted, the adrenaline finally getting the better of him. "How did you know they were coming in from the bathroom? What is going on?"

Sarah shook her head and ejected the clip from her S&W, grabbing a fresh clip from the glovebox. "I should have spotted it earlier. The bathroom was too clean. They must have had that hole cut before-hand and then cleaned up after themselves. The whole bedroom was disgusting. God, we were lucky they thought I was a hooker," she breathed.

"Lucky how?" Chuck demanded.

"If they'd come through the wall while we were asleep in the bathtub, we'd have been killed, Chuck," Sarah said. "They were afraid of surprising me with a john as a potential witness. Turn left up here," she said.

Chuck was still trying to wrap his mind around the sudden burst of violence. "Who were they working for? The Ring? How could they have found us?"

She put a calming hand on his knee. "Shh, Chuck," she said, "it wasn't the Ring. They were just petty criminals."

Chuck spared a glance from the early morning Cincinnati traffic. "What, why did they..."

"Pretty new girl at the seediest motel in the city," Sarah said, "gets a room for the night as late as we did, companion stays in the car. All of these things make them think I'm a working girl and that I was working last night. They were in the room next door, probably heard us go at it, which confirmed their suspicions as much as they needed it to. They try the hard sales pitch in the morning, but they don't take any chances, send in the two goons I spotted last night."

Chuck blinked. "That was the same two guys?"

She nodded. "Yeah,like I said: motel _too _seedy. Next time, we'll just sleep in the car."

He rubbed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Well, that's a great start to this mission," he finally said to fill the silence, if nothing else. "You know, I hate to say it," Chuck muttered, "but if you were a little less gorgeous, my life would be a lot simpler."

"That's why my dad made me dress frumpy and get fake braces in high school," Sarah admitted.

"Those were fake?" Chuck said in shock.

Sarah nodded. "Of course. You think a con-man can afford braces? Keeping up with copies of the orthodontists files every time we switched identities would have been a huge headache." Chuck digested this tidbit, and she pointed suddenly. "Pull in up ahead," she said, and turned to grab her bag from the back seat while Chuck found a parking spot in the Target lot. It wasn't difficult, seeing as the store had only opened an hour or so ago. Sarah came back from her excursion into the wilds of the Cutlass' back seat with a black wig and a screwdriver. She whipped the wig on and tossed her head.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She brandished the screwdriver at him. "We need new wheels," Sarah explained. "These are burned. Those idiots will eventually try to cut deals for themselves, and somebody might have called 911 with all the shooting. Better safe than sorry. Wipe down the interior while I find us a car."

Sarah pulled up a few minutes later in a newer car. "Won't the owner miss it?" Chuck asked.

She nodded. "Of course they will, eventually, but they work here at the store," she pointed. "It's definitely a risk. Hopefully, they're here through the afternoon at least. Maybe we'll have time to drop it back off before it's missed."

They transferred their things quickly, and made their way, careful to obey all traffic laws to the part of town where the President was due to speak in just a couple of hours. The streets closer in were shut down in preparation, and Chuck and Sarah found a parking garage three blocks distant from the plaza, more than six-hundred yards, still well inside Berentz's potential range. Before letting him out of the car, Sarah glued a heavy false beard to him and tugged a Bengals cap down low over his brow.

"Now what?" Chuck asked.

Sarah thought about it. "It's better if we're not seen together," she remarked, putting the finishing touches on her own disguise. "You find a bar. I think I saw one back down the block a ways, take the guncase. I'd be to conspicuous with it in the plaza. I'll scope out security on the speech and assess which plan we use."

"Text me if we need to run. I'll meet you with the car," Chuck said.

Sarah considered. "Okay, that's a good fallback." She paused with one foot out of the car. "Are you okay? You're shaking."

"Maybe a bar's a good idea. I could use a drink," he said. "Just nerves probably. That thing at the motel... I'm still processing, I think." A pause. "I almost lost you."

Sarah leaned back in and kissed him on the cheek. "It'll be alright. Love you."

Chuck watched her go with a horrible, sinking feeling, before wiping down the interior of the car and retrieving the cased Remington 700 hunting rifle with high-powered scope from the trunk. It looked enough like a bass guitar case, that he was confident carrying it around, the real source of his nerves was something else entirely. The idiot incident with the thugs at their motel just underscored how crazy they were merely to be attempting this. Calling in to Beckman had seemed logical, but with no real way to follow up without getting caught, now they were caught in a worse trap, their own best tendencies working against them. The president was at risk, and that was something that he felt honor-bound to do something about, and he knew Sarah felt the same way, risks or not. Chuck finally realized that the odds were in favor of him and Sarah winding up getting mistaken for the real assassin. He hoped now that Sarah was right, that the Intersect was out of date, because what was a better outcome? Getting caught and thrown in a bunker by Beckman, or being shot by the Secret Service by accident? He was in an impossible position; without proper intel, he couldn't know what was the right move to make, and neither could Sarah. And what if Berentzwas loose out there somewhere, well outside the radius against which it was possible for any protective agency to guard?

Chuck rubbed his temples where his Intersect migraines usually started. He had a headache now, but this one he couldn't blame on the computer in his head. He really did need a drink, but he couldn't do that, could he? He needed to be sharp, mentally.

Chuck found the pub Sarah had mentioned and sidled up to the bar, found a stool and sat gratefully, cased rifle leaning against his leg. "What'll it be? Beer?"

"Little early for that yet," Chuck heard himself say, feeling utterly divorced from his body. This wasn't what he had signed up for. In point of fact, he hadn't really signed up for anything, had _he? _He tried to squash that thought. He may not have put pen to paper, but that day in the Intersect chamber he _had _had a choice, not much of one, of course, but there it was. Just like today, not much of a choice, but still a choice. "I'll have a Sprite."

"7up okay?"

Chuck frowned. "Yeah, whatever," he said, and for once, started acting like a spy. He scanned the bar for threats, points of entry, egress, through the mirror behind the bartender, his eyes made a sweep. He looked for reflective surfaces and found them, using them to take stock of his surroundings without appearing to do so. He shuddered involuntarily when he spotted a familiar face coming out of the ladies room.

This was ridiculous; this was impossible. He froze into his stool and attempted to become invisible through sheer force of will. There had been some thoroughly improbable coincidences in his life, like the time he and Ellie had stumbled across a weapons designer poisoned by a former Olympic gymnast on the streets of Los Angeles. Sure, he was a student of coincidence on a grand scale, but this was too much! What in God's name was _Carina_ doing in Cincinnati?

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Chapter 38 will be a while. I'm struggling to make it not sucky and super-plotholey (that's a word, right?) We'll see how it goes writing tomorrow.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: I am caving to peer pressure and posting this without letting my beta reader finish. So if there are noticeable errors and such, don't blame _daywalkr82, _blame your anonymous fellow reader on my blog. And also me.

* * *

Chapter 38:

* * *

"Crap," Chuck said under his breath and attempted to just fade into the wallpaper like the guy from _Garden State_. He blinked the extraneous thought away, and slipped out his burner, and tapped a quick warning text to Sarah, watching the redhead through the mirror behind the bar. She was alone, and heading back toward the bar, all of which screamed set-up, to Chuck. Sarah's paranoia from the other night had infected him.

He traced a hypothetical path for the General and Casey to have recruited Carina into the plot to catch rogue-agents Chuck and Sarah, and after a few steps it became needlessly convoluted. As impossible as it seemed, maybe she was working some big DEA case in Cincinnati? It was more plausible than the conspiracy theory he had been brewing up to explain things. Chuck stuffed his phone away and hunched forward at the bar, scrunching his shoulders up to change his profile. The hat and the beard were decent disguises, but only if someone was looking for him from his old Stanford ID. Sarah had explained to him the night before that Secret Service had special software to put different beards and hairstyles on high threat individuals in case they had attempted to change their appearance, much as Chuck had. Carina sauntered over to the bar, glanced at him and seemed to dismiss him after a moment.

But he didn't really know if that were an act or not, he could feel beads of sweat forming along the edge of his ballcap, and knew it was just a matter of time before he gave himself away. Carina signalled the bartender and turned, leaning back against the bar six feet to Chuck's left. To stop his hands from shaking, he hauled his 7-up over and took a long draw from the straw.

Carina sighed. "Married. Figures."

Chuck ignored her as hard as he could, shifting slightly to watch the TV over the barman's head, and away from Carina. He flicked his eyes to the mirror; she was still inspecting him, was that just standard spy-situational awareness, or was she... checking him out...?

"You a guitar player?" she started to say, then, Carina did a double take.

"Wait, that's not a guitar—"

"Shh, Carina, wait," Chuck whispered with a shake of his head. "It's me, Chuck."

"Chuckles?" Carina said incredulously and squinted until she really recognized him through the beard. "What are _you_ doing here?" She lowered her voice. "Why do you have a gun case?"

"It's complicated," Chuck said. Carina's green eyed gaze took that about as well as he deserved.

She frowned and leaned closer, doing a new inspection of him. "Something's different about you." Carina said. "Why are you in the nasty 'Natti?"

"The what?" Chuck said, trying to stall.

Carina snorted and flipped her hair out of her face. "Don't deflect," she said, and poked him in the chest with every word. "Why. Are. You. Here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sarah said, appearing out of nowhere and taking a stool on Chuck's other side. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and unconsciously looped an arm around her waist. Sarah rested her head on his shoulder for all of a second, before she remembered they had an audience of one.

Carina grinned. "Ah..." she said. "That's what's different. I thought I detected the swagger of a man getting regular sex."

Chuck's ears turned red and Sarah shot a glare her friend's way around Chuck's form. "Would you just lay off for five minutes, Carina?" Sarah brushed her wig's bangs out of her eyes absently.

Carina squealed and her hand lashed out in front and across Chuck, seizing her friend's wrist, tilting Sarah's engagement ring back and forth skeptically. And then her eyes widened further, when she spotted the second band on that finger and made the connection to Chuck's wedding band. "Is this a cover or... hang on." she thought about it for a moment. "I heard some chatter about... oh my God!" Carina glanced around the bar to make sure no one was close enough to hear the outburst. "You two went AWOL, didn't you? Are you crazy?" She shook her head and waved for the bartender. "We need drinks over here! And keep 'em coming!"

Sarah shook her head. "Ginger ale for me,"

Carina glared at her friend as if she'd never seen her before. "No, seriously."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and nodded vehemently at the bartender. "Ginger ale."

Carina closed her mouth, and then grinned. "What? Seriously, _Walker_? Ginger Ale? What's wrong, are you pregnant—" Carina's head cocked as she spoke, and her mouth fell open again. It took her several seconds to remember how to operate her jaw and stop staring slack-jawed at them. The bartender slid a pair of shots in front of Carina and Chuck. The redhead slammed back both of them in quick succession, and then let her head fall forward into cupped hands. "Oh my _God, _I'm not nearly drunk enough to deal with this. Bartender!"

Sarah shook her head surreptitiously to forestall more liquor so early in the morning. "What are you doing here?" she said. "You never answered me."

"I asked Chuckles first," Carina pointed out. "_He_ still hasn't answered _me_. Oh, Lord, are those wedding rings for real?"

Sarah nodded minutely, fighting a smile.

Carina glanced out the corner of her eye at Chuck, "Kind of a wimpy engagement ring."

"Hey," Sarah said sharply. "Family heirloom, Carina, lay off."

"God, you're no fun when you're knocked up," Carina muttered. "Were you always this mellow?"

A slow grin spread across Sarah's face. "Remember what you said about regular sex? Works both ways."

"Interesting..." Carina mused. "Maybe I should get a nerd of my own..."

Chuck blushed and tried to pull his Bengals cap further down over his eyes. "Could you please remember I'm in the room, ladies?"

Carina made a dismissive gesture. "Whatevs Chuckles. Why are you _here_?"

"It's complicated," Sarah said.

Carina threw up her hands. "That's what _he _said. That's it, I've had it. I want a straight answer out of you two or I'm turning you in. Friend or no friend."

"Don't even joke about that," Sarah said. "I'll explain. But what are you doing here? Did Beckman send you?"

"What? No," Carina shrugged. "They pulled me out of undercover work after I kicked some skeevy ambassador in the chicken McNuggets for getting handsy," she shuddered. "Old guy hands."

"Ambassador for who?" Sarah said.

"Oh, it was one of ours," she volunteered. "They've got me riding a desk, now, and if that isn't a waste of my riding skills, I don't know what is."

Chuck shook his head and took a sip of his 7-up.

"I still can't believe you let him knock you up, Walker," Carina said.

"Still right here," Chuck said.

"Want to let me in on why?" Carina said, still digging.

"Somebody's going to try to off the President," Sarah said.

"And you know this _how_?" Carina glowered.

"It's complicated," Sarah said, "And you don't need to know."

"I think I do," The redhead shot right back. "Considering, strictly speaking, I'm consorting with wanted fugitives or rogue operatives... or something."

"I'm on vacation," Sarah growled. "And what happened to your desk duty? Shouldn't you be at the local DEA office being bored?"

Carina shrugged. "I took an early lunch. I still think I'm owed an explanation."

Sarah blew a heavy sigh and caught Chuck's gaze. "You want the long version, or the short."

"I've got nothing but time," Carina said.

"Come on," Sarah said and glanced at her watch. There wasn't a lot of time left before the speech started. "We'll walk and talk."

* * *

Sarah led the way, one arm looped through Chuck's, but leaving her gun-hand free. Carina shot a glance at them every so often, and sighed and shook her head, fighting back the urge to gag at the syrupy sweetness of them.

Carina shook her head. "He has a _what _in his brain!" she said in a harsh whisper, even though no one was close enough on the street to overhear.

"It also taught me Kung-Fu," Chuck put in helpfully.

"I think I need to lie down," Carina said. "This is a lot to take in."

"No time," Sarah shrugged, "The President's speech is in..." she glanced at her watch. "Forty five minutes, and I didn't make any surveillance other than standard. I spotted the usual array of Secret Service, riflemen and the Stinger crew in case anybody gets really ambitious, but no NSA cleaner teams. I can spot them a mile away. Either Beckman didn't get our email, or..."

"Any way we can check that out?"

"I need an internet connection," Chuck said. "Sarah how much coverage, like on security cameras do they have; do you know?"

Sarah thought about it. "I don't really know. They had two months prep time for this speech, so that's enough time they could have networked all the cameras at least within the security perimeter. If they ran facial recognition on those, Berentz' ID should get tossed out."

"Except he's supposed to be dead, right?" Chuck said. "Does their algorithm automatically check KIA files?"

"Jesus," Carina said. "This is really happening isn't it.

"Not on our watch," Chuck said. "That's the whole point, right?"

"So, internet cafe?" Sarah pointed surreptitiously and hitched the gun case up on her back more securely.

"Hotel," Chuck suggested. "After all, Carina needs to lie down."

"God, when did _you _become a smartass?"

"Oh, I've always been a smartass," Chuck said. "You just always breezed into town when I was having a weird month."

Sarah snorted. "When aren't we having a weird month? There at the corner of the block," she said, digging in her purse. You go in, get a room, text me the room number, we'll come in and we'll brainstorm."

"Credit cards?" Chuck said. "Can't they trace these?"

"Yeah, but it's a throwaway card, and a throwaway ID," Sarah said, and nudged him toward the door. "Take the case too, it'll look suspicious if you don't have _some _luggage."

Chuck nodded and went inside and checked in under his one-time-use identity of Buzz Fielding. On the way to the elevators he spotted a sign for the hotel 'Business Center,' which was basically a small computer lab, and deserted. "Jackpot," he breathed, and turned back for the lobby.

The clerk looked up from whatever she was doing behind the counter. "Yes, Mr. Fielding? Is something the matter with your room?"

Chuck shook his head. "No, no... but I forgot my laptop, and I noticed the business center. Do you need to give me a password or..."

"Just swipe your room keycard to get it," she said.

"Thank you," Chuck said, trying not to let the cringe show. Keycard swipe meant electronic records, but he shrugged and grabbed his phone to text Sarah and Carina.

The hotel's business center PC was on the same network as the hotel computers, for simplicity's sake, but to an experienced hacker of Chuck's caliber, it was a huge security gap. It took Sarah and Carina just a few minutes to join him in the computer room, but he was already through their firewalls and granting himself administrator privileges when he had to get up and open the door for the two spies.

"So, I know you're a computer nerd, Chuck," Carina said, walking through while Chuck held the door. "But usually when somebody gets a room at a hotel, they ask for one with a bed and a little mini-fridge and a TV, not a bunch of computers."

"Har-de-har," Chuck said, and plopped himself back down. "This shouldn't take me too long, just need to log into the secure NSA servers and that should give me access to—"

"Do what?" Sarah asked, blinking. "You still have access?"

Chuck shrugged and typed frantically. "No... but Casey does. I just have to access one of my old email accounts, to pull up the password..."

"How do you have Casey's password," Carina wanted to know, hands on hips, completely mystified.

Chuck glanced at her and grinned. "They used to leave me alone in the secret base for hours. You know how easy it is to put a key-logger on somebody's computer, rig it to send you a simple alphanumeric passcode every time it changes? Physical access security wasn't something they really worried about at Castle, at least for me."

"Chuck!" Sarah said, mildly affronted. "You..." She blinked at the screen. "Gmail? You sent his NSA mainframe password to an unsecure Gmail account?"

"Yes. But I encrypted it," Chuck said, pointing to a huge string of ones and zeros. "You know the old saying. There are 10 kinds of people in the world: those who understand binary, and those who don't." He kept typing.

Carina frowned. "That's only two."

Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes. "His point exactly. Nerd humor."

This elicited a raised eyebrow from the redhead. "And how do _you _know that, Walker?"

She shrugged. "I guess he's rubbing off on me."

"Ba-zing!" Chuck said.

Carina wrinkled her nose in confusion for a moment and then rolled her eyes. "Oh, gross."

"Okay, I'm in," Chuck said, "you were right, Sarah, they've got all the cameras inside the cordon feeding into a government FTP site for logging, and Casey's cleared higher than God, so... Yahtzee."

A grid of windows came up on the screen, 4 by 4, over the small DOS window chuck had been doing his hacking in. Tiny people moved by on the streets in a jerky fashion that reminded of old movies, as they sped by faster than normal.

Carina blinked. "How can you even see what's going on?" she protested.

"There," Chuck stabbed his finger at the screen, and fiddled with the keyboard, blowing up the window to fill the whole screen. "That's him isn't it?"

Sarah nodded. "Nice catch," she said. "Can you tell what building that is, Carina? You've been living here, right?"

The redhead shook her hair out of her eyes and crossed her arms defensively. "I don't memorize architecture as a rule, Blondie."

"It's fine," Chuck said. "There should be an identifier attached if I can just access... there it is. eight, maybe ten blocks back the way we came."

Sarah did the math in her head, and let out a low whistle. "Better than a mile," she said. "What's the building?"

"The Hilton," Chuck said. "It's on our list of buildings with sight-lines to the plaza, but the range is a little long, isn't it? Google maps says 1.9 kilometers."

"His record is twenty-six hundred meters or something," Sarah said. "We need to move, what buildings are around the area, so I can set up to counter-snipe him?"

"Office park across the street, but it only goes seven stories up..."

"I'm no slouch, remember," Sarah said. "Couple hundred yards is fine."

"Here," Chuck said. "Faster if I just text you the address where you need to set up. How will we know which room he's in if he doesn't just head for the roof?"

Sarah reached into her purse and tossed him a leather wallet. He opened it to reveal his Stanford ID photo, but in a new context. "Huh," Carina said, reading the badge over his shoulder. "Agent Carmichael of the Secret Service? You got one in there for me?"

"I'm printing out the best shot of Berentz we've got on the tape," Chuck said. "And I've erased our arrival from the hotel security tapes."

"Can you do that at the Raddison, too?" Sarah asked. "We need to give you some plausible deniability here, Carina. You're sticking your neck out pretty far on this one."

"Hmmm..." Chuck said. "Yeah, this Secret Service ID should get me into the security booth..."

"Be careful, Chuck," Sarah said. "That thing is good enough to fool a hotel clerk, but if they call it in, you're going to be up to your neck in actual Service agents." She cracked open the gun case and fished out a smaller leather case that Chuck hadn't seen before. He mused idly about it being a gun case of Holding, but given the company he was currently keeping, didn't voice the idea. Sarah unzipped the small case and tossed a familiar looking tactical radio his direction. "In case you need to split up, we can stay in communication. Probably won't have time to text each other."

"Raided Castle before you left, I see..." Carina smirked, and stuffed her radio into her purse. "You just happened to have three?"

Sarah shook her head. "I have six. Two sets of spares for me and Chuck."

Carina and Chuck both blinked in shock. "What," Sarah said. "You both know I sometimes over-plan."

Chuck grinned. "C'mere," he said and pulled her into a one-armed hug. That was about all they had time for. He turned back to his computer and wrote a brief script to stop the security cameras on the first floor from dumping the recording to disk for the next five minutes, so they could get moving again without leaving any traces. After a moment, he accessed the hotel's scanned copy of the phony ID he'd used to check in, and swapped the picture out with one of Gerald Ford off of Wikipedia.

* * *

They caught a cab, and crammed awkwardly into the backseat. Sarah slipped out at their first stop a block-and-a-half before the Raddison, to go up and find herself a position facing the side of the building Berentz would have to shoot from. Which left a couple of minutes of awkward silence in the back of the taxi for Chuck and Carina. "If you hurt her, I'll staple your eyelids to your forehead and make you watch Smurfs on Ice over and over again," Carina said finally, breaking the silence as the cab pulled up to the lobby of the Raddison, where the would be assassin had had a head start in finding a shooting platform.

Chuck frowned. "That's... good to know... I guess?" he said and stuffed a fifty through the window, waving off any attempt by the cabbie to make change. "It wasn't in the original plan anyway, but now I've got even more motivation to be the best husband and father in the world."

"Ugh," Carina said. "I still can't believe Walker let you knock her up."

Chuck grinned and grabbed the door. "Technically speaking, she's not knocked up."

"Oh, enlighten me," Carina said.

"She's only nine weeks pregnant, and we've been married since Comic-con, at the end of July. So, child conceived in wedlock, therefore not 'knocked up'."

"Oh my _god_," Carina said, rolling her eyes. "You made her get married at Comic-con? Lord, did you make her dress up like princess Leia too?"

Chuck's grin widened. "Actually, that was all _her_ idea."

"What are you doing to my friend, Chuckles!"

"Simmer down, red," Chuck fished his Secret Service ID out of his pocket and made his way toward the front desk.

"Hello, Can I help you?" the man at the counter said.

"Carmichael, Secret Service," Chuck said displaying his phony credentials. "This is my partner, Agent Smith." Carina flashed her DEA credentials fast enough and with a practiced enough movement, that the clerk couldn't have seen more than the flash of metal of her badge, despite the giant red block caps of her agency's initials. "We've had a tip, probably nothing, but I need access to your security cameras."

"You have a warrant?"

Carina arched an eyebrow. "No. No we don't, but that's not going to be a problem, because even though this is probably a nothing tip, if it isn't nothing and you jerked us around about a warrant, you don't want to go down in history as the hotel desk clerk who helped kill a president. Or do you?"

The man blanched visibly and waved them around the desk. "Security room is through there. Stan is on duty."

Chuck nodded and walked with an arrogance in his step that did nothing to stop his palms from sweating. He glanced at his watch. Twelve minutes until the President's speech started. God, but they were cutting this one close. The security room was dimly lit, mostly by the glow of all the monitors. Chuck had seen more than his fair share of security monitoring booths and the like. This one was nicer than most. He noticed the huge bulk of the tape backup unit right away. They were serious about logging everything here, it seemed. Still it was worth a shot.

"You Stan?" Chuck asked. The man nodded. "Beat it. Secret Service."

"Does the manager know you're—"

Carina cracked her knuckles loudly. "You heard the man." Stan scowled and stood to leave. "Smoke 'em if you've got 'em." Once the security monitoring specialist had left the room, Carina shook her head. "Note to self, never give Chuckles a badge for real. The power goes straight to his head.

Chuck didn't bother with a reply, falling into the recently vacated seat and fiddling with the computer system attached to the huge bank of monitors. He remembered after a moment to put in the earpiece from his tactical radio set. The range was much better than the tiny earbuds they usually used, but the encrypted tactical comms were much bulkier, with a spiral cord running down from his ear to the microphone nestled at his throat. "Sarah, we're in security now. I'm running through the video from earlier, to see if I can spot Berentz coming in the lobby, follow him on the tapes to his room."

"We could have just asked the clerk at the desk," Carina pointed out.

"We can also see if the police or the actual Secret Service start showing up on these monitors," Chuck shot back, and the DEA agent nodded reluctantly. "Okay, I see him... let me just fast forward... I lost him. Carina, did you see where...?"

"Twentieth floor," she said, pointing Berentz out one of the monitors on which Chuck was replaying footage. Chuck found the controls he was looking for with the mouse and zoomed in. The picture didn't get any better, but Chuck didn't have time to spare figuring out the Raddison security zoom-and-enhance functionality. He could read the room number, at least. 2022. "Sarah, did you copy that?"

"Yeah. Two zero two-two. But could you tell me which window I'm looking for?"

"Hang on one second," Chuck said. They had the blueprints on the computer in a PDF file, which a quick search found. He flicked through the pages and counted windows, until he got to the twentieth-floor-page. "Twenty six floors total, so six down, fourth from the right."

"My right or your right?" Sarah said.

Chuck blinked, staring at the plans for a moment while he did the mental gymnastics of orienting himself, the side of the building Sarah was looking at, and the odd angle in regard to the compass needle the blueprints were using. "Your right," he finally said.

"Damn it," Sarah growled over the encrypted radio. "His blinds are still shut, I don't have a shot. And my weapon's a bolt action hunting rifle, not a SAW. I've only got twenty rounds over here total. One of you is going to have to go up there and stop him in person.

"I'll go," Chuck and Carina said at the same time. "Jinx," Chuck said. "I'll go."

"No way, Chuckles," she said. "If you get killed, Walker will be impossible to live with."

"If things go bad, you need an out more than me or Sarah. We're already rogue in the eyes of the NSA."

"And with a baby on the way," Carina said. "No dice, Chuck. I'm going."

"Rock, paper, scissors," Chuck said.

"Oh would one of you just go already," Sarah's voice said testily over the radio. Carina arched an eyebrow. And threw paper. Chuck's scissors won the day. "Best of three?"

"No time," Chuck said.

"At least take my sidearm," Carina demanded, tugging the weapon out of her purse.

"No," he said. "You know I don't like guns."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Take my stun-gun then."

"Fine," Chuck said, extending his hand. He half expected Carina to shock him and go herself, but she just slapped the stun-gun in his palm and sprawled in the now free chair.

* * *

He made his way back into the lobby to the bank of elevators. Chuck glared at his watch briefly, during the wait for an elevator to arrive. He shook his head and slipped in and jabbed the button for 20. He found himself humming along to the Muzak unconsciously until Carina's voice came through the radio headset and scolded him for it.

"Still no movement on the blinds," Sarah said as Chuck watched the numbers climb into the teens. "I've got no clear shot. When you get up there, if you can bring down the curtains, or whatever, I can help you out."

The elevator binged, signalling Chuck's arrival at the twentieth floor. "Crap!" Carina said. "Two guys just entered the lobby, big guys, all in black. Black sunglasses. The whole thing. Like movie Secret Service."

"Okay, give us a timeframe, Carina," Sarah said. "Then get the hell out of there. If they spot you, you're going down for aiding a fugitive, plus a bunch of whatever crap Beckman can cook up."

"Hang on, they're heading straight for the elevators, that's weird. They didn't even let the desk clerk know they're government. They know what they're after, these two."

"What?" Chuck said. "That doesn't make any sense, how could they just know he's here," he shifted to whispering. "I'm outside his room." He glanced at his watch. "President goes on in four minutes. Don't know how I'm getting back out past the Secret Service."

Sarah's voice crackled in his ears. "There's a window-washing gondola maybe ten feet below the window," she said. "As a last resort, you might be able to jump down to that. _Absolutely_ last resort, Chuck, understand?"

"Affirmative, ma'am," Chuck said, and then fell silent. Very briefly, he considered knocking and replying in his horrible falseto 'housekeeping' voice if challenged. The flash shivered into his brain with hobnailed boots. Which was a little on the nose, as the flash gave him the structural knowledge necessary to kick the door down. He shrugged. Waste not, want not.

Chuck took two steps back and the threw himself forward putting all his weight behind his foot as he drove it into the door just to the left of the knob. The frame splintered and the door popped open all of six inches. The chain was on, and managed to hold.

Cursing under his breath, Chuck wound himself up again and smashed the door open as fast as he could with a second kick.

Berentz spun from his position near the far window, and fired from the hip. The bullet whizzed by Chuck's head with a sound like the largest bee ever, cracking what was left of the frame. Chuck would have breathed thanks to whatever god was watching over him today, that the bad guy didn't have a semi-automatic rifle, but he didn't have the time to spare. While Berentz fumbled with the bolt action of his rifle, Chuck launched himself into the room and leaped over the coffee table at the would-be assassin.

Berentz realized a split-second too late, that he should have dropped the rifle instead of trying to chamber a second round. He reached around into the small of his back for his sidearm, but Chuck had closed the distance, and managed to grab the wrist of Berentz' gun-hand, keeping the barrel pointed away in a safe direction. "Who the hell are you!" Berentz grunted, trying to break free.

"Santa Claus, come early," Chuck said. "You've been a very naughty boy." He jammed Carina's Stun-gun into Berentz armpit.

It was a mistake. The shock passed through Chuck as easily as Berentz on its path to the ground, and Chuck's muscles spasmed uncontrollably. So did the would-be assassin's, and he squeezed a round off into the ceiling.

The stun-gun slipped from numbing fingers and Chuck and Gus Berentz staggered toward the window. The surprise of getting shocked himself, had made Chuck drop the weapon, and ensured neither man had gotten a full dose of the miniaturized cattle-prod Carina kept in her purse. Chuck retained the presence of mind to karate chop Berentz gun hand at the wrist, sending the pistol flying, and then he was wrestling himself out of the tangle he'd made of the blinds.

He ended up tearing the fitting right out of the wall and baring the room to Sarah's sniper scope. When he finished his conquest of the blinds, Chuck spotted Berentz crawling after his lost weapon, and he dove, landing on the assassin's back with one knee and snatching the pistol just before the other man got to it.

Chuck shoved himself up to his feet, gun pointed down at his opponent's back. "Stay down, clasp your hands behind your head, interlacing your fingers." He was so distracted by the fight with Berentz, and the fact that he was somehow channeling every cop out of every TV show ever, that the two armed agents burst in on him with his back turned.

"Hands in the air, drop your weapon," one of the men said.

"Crap. I'm CIA," Chuck tried. "There on the floor, that's your man."

"I said drop the gun," the same agent growled.

"Of course," Chuck said reasonably, pointing the barrel up at the ceiling. "No problem," he ejected the magazine and racked the slide back to eject the last round, before tossing the pistol aside. "Just relax."

"I want you to turn nice and slow," the other agent said.

"This doesn't make any sense... why are there two of them?" The first said. "It looks like they had a falling out. You with the Bengals cap, turn around, slowly."

Chuck nodded. "Don't shoot me, you do _not _want all the paperwork..." His eyes rolled in their sockets and information blazed through his synapses as he flashed on Agent Theodore Newton. Chuck blinked away the flash. Jesus, the Ring had a guy on the Secret Service? Or were they even the ring anymore? Beckman's theory had claimed somebody new was taking over. Irrelevant at the moment.

"I'm calling for backup," The first agent said. "Detail lead can sort all this out later."

"I can't let you do that, Kenneth," The Ring mole in Secret Service said, turning smoothly and putting a bullet in his partner's throat. Kenneth clapped a hand to his wound, but didn't topple right away, somehow managing to half turn, his gun wavering into a sight picture on the traitor.

Chuck heard the distinctive snick of a gun being reloaded and glanced down at Berentz, who was just turning in Chuck's direction. "Crap!" Chuck shouted and dove over the sofa. Gunfire erupted, and Chuck pushed himself up into a three point stance half-remembered from running track that one semester back at Stanford. "Sarah? How far down is that gondola?"

"Chuck, don't you dare jump out a window in the middle of a firefight!"

"Banzai!" He shouted, and ran for it. The Ring agent and Berentz were trading shots, but now bullets where buzzing by him again, sending cobwebs of cracks through the glass window Chuck was quickly approaching. Chuck shielded his face with both hands as he hit the weakening barrier.

He blasted through onto a tiny balcony, and the railing hit him in the upper thighs, tipping him upside down in a jarring tumble out into 20 stories of empty space.

Chuck managed to tuck his legs in somehow and landed on the window-washing gondola with a crash that blew the breath out of his lungs. He coughed air back into his lungs for the much deserved victory sigh, but the ominous twang of cables coming undone froze him in place for a moment before the gondola tilted crazily. The end at Chuck's feet lurched and suddenly fell free. Chuck managed to wrap his forearm around one of the lengths of wire strung between the railing and the metal mesh of the floor of the gondola. The cable bit into his arm and he spun out, dangling over the enormous drop, legs flailing helplessly. His Bengals cap popped free of his head and tumbled away on the breeze. He shifted, trying to get a better grip, but the cable started slicing through his skin and blood trickled down, turning any grip he had tenuous at best. "Crapcrapcrap..." Chuck said. The gunfire above trailed off, and Chuck glanced upward involuntarily to find the victor of the shoot-out.

Berentz stood leaning over the railing to look at him, bleeding from a wound in the meat of his arm, but making up for it in sheer rage.

Chuck tried to work enough moisture into his mouth to swallow nervously. "Uh... truce?" he said. The assassin shifted his pistol to his non-wounded arm and grinned.

TO BE CONCLUDED...

* * *

A/N: Everybody notice the shift from continued to concluded? Good. Working through weird phone-computer lash-up to post this chapter. I'll try to get the final chapter + epilogue out before the end of the month.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Thanks as always to my beta reader _daywalkr82, _for always being on the ball for grammar, and commas, my kryptonite.

* * *

Chapter 39:

* * *

Sarah growled in frustration; she could hear the struggle and Chuck's labored breathing and grunts of exertion as he struggled with the assassin through her tactical radio set, but the blinds were still up, obscuring her sight-picture and making it impossible to identify her target properly. A crash came through her earphones and then the blinds came down in a rush. Sarah felt her breath hitch in her throat and her finger tighten on the trigger, a hairsbreadth from firing, but no, it was Chuck who was the last man standing, and her lip curled just a little in pride before Chuck dove out of her sights. She froze momentarily and only resumed breathing when Chuck popped back up holding a pistol aimed downward.

The whiplash of emotion continued, when the door behind him burst open to admit the pair of Secret Service agents Carina had mentioned earlier. She bit off a curse; how many times could her emotional state turn on a dime in the course of a minute? Two men had guns drawn at Chuck's back, but she couldn't fire on Secret Service agents, and unless Chuck thought of something fast... she ground her teeth. She hated this: watching him through a sniper-scope, unable to take the necessary action to protect him. Perhaps this was how he had felt, at least in part, on all those missions, trapped in the surveillance van as she and Casey risked life and limb. Sarah had only been half-listening to the unfolding drama, but then one Secret Service agent spun and a gunshot broke the brief stillness, taking down his partner, and shattering the action-plan Sarah had been in the middle of formulating. She was in pure reaction mode now.

Chuck shouted a curse and dived out of the line of fire, thankfully. Sarah clutched her hunting rifle to her shoulder tightly; it was basically a civilian version of the M32 bolt-action sniper rifle, probably a near twin to the one Berentz himself had been using until seconds before. Berentz took cover and exchanged fire with the remaining Secret Service agent.

"Sarah?" Chuck's voice asked. "How far down is that gondola?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Chuck, don't you dare jump out a window in the middle of a firefight!" she spat, but it was already too late. She tensed as Berentz shifted fire, turning his gun to follow Chuck's flight. The would-be assassin didn't break cover, so his fire at Chuck was mostly un-aimed, shattering the window-glass instead of her husband. Still, there was always a price to be paid for pointing a gun at her man.

She shifted her point of aim, laying the crosshairs over Berentz left eyebrow and timing her breathing so that the movement wouldn't spoil her aim, before squeezing the trigger. The muzzle-flare briefly obscured her sights, and then the glass was too filmed with cracks to know if her bullet had flown true. She kept her eye riveted to the target until Chuck came blasting through the weakened glass and tumbled over the railing. Her attention was divided. The vast majority of her was concerned with Chuck's tumble, but a tiny fragment of her still noted that Berentz was wounded, not dead. The thick glass must have deformed the hollowpoint bullet slightly, causing it to tumble and deflect to one side erratically. It was a largely extraneous thought, flicking by faster than its formation, as Sarah's heart leapt into her throat. Chuck's arms and legs windmilled through the air as he fell into the window-washing cart with a crash she heard through her earphones.

She just had time to come to grips with that development, that the insane risk he'd taken somehow hadn't killed him. Chuck was safely in the cart, and he could use it to get to the ground, hopefully before the police showed up.

But then, she saw the first cable snap, saw the gondola begin to tilt, and time seemed to slow to a crawl, everything moving as if trapped in thick syrup. Chuck spilled out into the abyss, and a great fist seized her heart, crushing it mercilessly as he fell free. Sarah snapped her eyes closed as tears welled. She couldn't watch him die; it wasn't in her. Her left hand dropped to her belly from holding her rifle steady. God, _no..._

She had no idea how much time passed before Chuck's voice came through her earphones again, somehow not drawn out in a scream as he plummeted to his death. "Uh... truce?" he said, and Sarah's eyes flicked open, kicking her brain into a gear she didn't know she had. Her hands worked mechanically, snapping the bolt up and back to eject the spent round, and hen forward and down to chamber the second round in her rifle's four round internal magazine.

The tableau jumped into focus as she jammed the scope back into her eye. Chuck dangled by one hand tangled in one of the cables from the window-washing cart. How the hell had it just been sitting there, unoccupied? Another extraneous thought; right now, the love of her life hung precariously over a two-hundred-foot fall, with a cold-hearted assassin looming over him, pistol in hand and arm extending downward as he took aim.

For the tiniest fraction of a second, her crosshairs hung over Berentz forehead once more, and she considered taking the shot. If she placed the bullet just right, Berentz would turn off as if she had flicked a switch; there would be no time for his finger to spasm closed on the trigger of the sidearm aimed at Chuck's head., but it _was _aimed at her Chuck's head, and with her heart hammering in her chest, her breathing barely under control anymore, she couldn't be sure the bullet would strike the one tiny spot in Berentz' head that would instantaneously end the man's life and the threat to Chuck's. She shifted aim for an easier target.

* * *

"I usually try to know the names of the men I kill," Gus Berentz shouted down to Chuck, "but in your case, mystery man, I could give a crap. Make your peace with God." He pointed the weapon at Chuck, and then his hand exploded. Chuck flinched, thinking at first that Berentz had fired. The bullet impacted the assassin's fist between the knuckles and mushroomed against the frame of his sidearm, ejecting the pistol from his ruined hand and showering his torso with fragments, both from the bullet and the gun itself. The impact force spun Berentz in place, and he fell against the railing, tipping out into the abyss with a shout of pain. The pistol tumbled first, and Chuck batted it away from his face, a momentary distraction. Berentz fell past the dangling spy, scrabbling desperately for a grip, his uninjured right hand finding purchase on Chuck's ankle.

Chuck cursed as the tug on his leg made the cable bite deeper into his hand, and despite his best effort, his hand flinched steel cable slipping through his grasp. Berentz swung in an arc from his tenuous grip on Chuck's leg and collided with the wall below him before losing his grip and falling just a few feet to the next balcony below.

Chuck grimaced and reached up with his free hand to try to secure his grip but his right hand was afire with pain, and he fell, only a moment after Berentz dropped. The would-be assassin was still catching his breath when Chuck landed on his back, overbalancing him toward the railing.

"Get off!" Berentz screamed, shrugging awkwardly and spinning Chuck loose.

Chuck lashed out and caught the wrought iron railing left-handed, just managing to wedge the toes of his sneakers through the uprights of the railing. Berentz clutched his ruined hand to his chest and reached behind him, brandishing a combat knife.

Chuck shook his head and dropped back and down, anchored with his grip on the railing and both feet wedged into the uprights, falling into a half-crouch. "Bad move, buddy." He screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away

Berentz had time to frown in confusion through the numbness of the beginning of shock. He spotted the muzzle-flare from Sarah's next shot, but her perch was only two-hundred yards away, and her .308 caliber bullet flew at nearly three times the speed of sound. He had time to realize he was dead, but that was all. The hollowpoint bullet deformed on impact, as it was designed to, but still had enough residual energy to pass fully through the assassin's skull and shatter the sliding glass door behind him before burying itself somewhere in the—hopefully—unoccupied hotel room. The corpse that had mere instants before been Gus Berentz collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Chuck waited for the last thump to open his eyes. He tried not to look at the dead man as he hoisted himself up over the railing. "Chuck?" Sarah's voice asked tersely over the radio.

"Yeah?" he managed to get out through a suddenly parched throat.

"Never do that again!"

He turned to the building he guessed she was perched atop and nodded. "Yeah..." he said again.

Chuck could almost hear the scowl. "Say the words, Chuck."

"Never again," he agreed, reaching gingerly through the hole in the sliding door to trip the latch and let himself in off the balcony. "Hey, Sarah... any idea what floor I'm on... and... I'm losing a lot of blood here."

"Are you hit?" she demanded.

Chuck shook his head as he padded into the room. "No... just cut myself on the cable..." he swallowed against a sudden bout of nausea. "Lot of blood..."

Carina's voice suddenly intruded. "Cops incoming," she said, and Chuck heard the sirens for the first time. He blinked and staggered into the wall next to the bathroom door.

Chuck shook his head. "Okay, Carina, get out of there... you remember how to set off the Worm, right?"

"Carina can take care of herself, Chuck. How bad is your arm?" she said, voice under tight control. "Is it oozing or pumping out?"

He shuddered... "Just oozing, I think."

"Get in the bathroom and put it under the water," Sarah gave him instructions even as she safed her rifle and stowed it back into the case. Her own position was none too secure, and people would be calling in both locations. She shoved the stairwell door open with her shoulder and barreled down the stairs three at a time.

"Ow," Chuck said sharply.

"That's good," Sarah said. "If your arm still hurts it means you didn't cut any nerves. Take one of the towels and wrap it as tight as you can."

He grumbled something that sounded like compliance, and Sarah took another flight of stairs full speed, beginning to breathe hard.

"Carina, can you talk him to an exit?"

"Wait, what floor am I on?" Chuck said. Sarah paused, nearly stumbling, and thought back, trying to count floors in her minds eye. "Sixteen," she said, and heard Chuck retch. "Don't puke; it'll only slow you down."

Chuck laughed shakily. "Yes ma'am..." he said.

"Okay Chuck," Carina said. "Turn right and head to the end of the hall. There should be a window, and I'm seeing construction on that end of the building on these monitors."

Sarah fumed. "What are you still doing in security? Move your bony ass, Carina!"

"Relax, Walker," Carina shot back, "I've got a plan."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's reassuring. Your plans usually end with me holding the bag."

"Not this time, Blondie; I've got your back," Carina said reassuringly.

"I'm at the window," Chuck said. "Now what?"

"You see the construction?" Carina said. "There should be some scaffolding leading down to the parking structure."

Chuck's eyes widened. "It's two stories straight down!" he protested.

"You just dropped four stories a minute ago," Carina said. Chuck shook his head and cast his eyes around for some other way down. Also, he needed some way to break the window.

"Where are we on the police situation?" he said instead.

"Three cars out front, they're still setting up a perimeter. Okay, dammit, two uniforms heading in. I've got to move now. Chuck, get down to that construction site, and keep moving down. I'll meet you on top of the parking structure."

Chuck shook his head and clutched his towel-wrapped arm to his chest. "Yeah. You do that..." He grabbed one end of the wooden bench the hotel had in the window and swung it awkwardly at the window. It rebounded with a dull thud that sent a shock of pain through his wounded arm. "Ow," he said and dropped the bench.

"You okay, baby?" Sarah said over the radio.

Chuck growled something incoherent and stooped to grab the bench again.

"Hotel security! Freeze!"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"I said, freeze! Turn around!"

Chuck glanced over his shoulder. "Well which is it? Freeze, or turn around?" He squinted, recognition flickering. "Stan, wasn't it?" Chuck turned fully.

"Agent Carmichael? What's going on?" He lowered his pistol and came closer, almost close enough that Chuck could... Stan seemed to recognize the sudden tension in Chuck's lanky frame, but it was too late. Chuck swung the bench, knocking the pistol out of Stan's grasp.

"Sorry about this," Chuck said, and kicked him in the pills. The security guard's breath rushed out of him in a harsh wheeze and he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Chuck darted over the downed hotel guard and scooped up his weapon. Stan's pistol was an older model, and Chuck had a moment's difficulty working the safety left-handed, but then the gun barked in his hand as he shot out the window. The rush of wind nearly unbalanced him as he leaned out, but there was a bit of scaffolding that protruded up above the main mass of construction, only a single story below.

He shook his head, and made sure his microphone was switched off. "So much for never again," he grumbled, and leaped. "Geronimo!" He hit and rolled to absorb the impact, then rolled again when he lost his balance and pitched off the short length of scaffolding onto the next level, a full ten feet lower. Chuck hit with crunch of wood and a cloud of sawdust, before hauling himself to his feet in a coughing fit.

A pair of construction workers with a handheld radio set stared at him in shock. One had just taken a bite of his sandwich, and his open mouth dripped what looked like half-chewed ham and cheese. Chuck grimaced and staggered off. The construction workers stood. "Hey!" one of them shouted, and Chuck growled a curse. He had to admit, if a man had jumped out of a hotel window into _his _construction site, Chuck would have taken exception to it as well.

He tucked Stan's stolen handgun into his armpit and fished his phony Secret Service ID out of his pants pocket. "Carmichael, Secret Service," he said, and proceeded to bluff his ass clean off. "My suspect wounded me, and I think he's in here somewhere." He brandished his towel-wrapped arm, and glanced at it for the first time. Blood was beginning to visibly soak through the white terrycloth. Chuck somehow stifled a shiver. "Keep your heads down until my backup gets here!" He stopped in his tracks and spun. "Which way is the elevator?"

One of the construction workers pointed, and Chuck breathed a sigh of relief, making his way hastily to the elevator. It was an open air contraption, with just a thin plywood and particle board railing between him and the drop. He jabbed the down button and shoved the door closed. The breeze was refreshing, he though, and shook his head. He was going a little funny.

Chuck blinked down at his right arm. It still hurt, so that was good, if Sarah was to be believed. _If?_That didn't make any sense, of course Sarah was to be believed. Chuck shook his head again. His thoughts were going in odd directions, and blood was dripping off the end of the towel he'd wrapped around his arm. That probably wasn't good.

The elevator stopped and Chuck threw himself into motion. He nearly stumbled and fell, but turned it into a staggering run. "Carina?" he said into his radio headset. "Where are you?"

Tires squealed and a blue sedan came out of nowhere, spinning a full 180 to present the rear of the car to him. The trunk popped open. "Get in, Chuckles!"

It didn't sound like the worst idea ever, so Chuck collapsed into the car-trunk and tugged the latch closed with his good left arm.

* * *

Carina crammed her foot onto the clutch and jammed the gearshift straight into second gear, pounding the gas pedal hard. She'd barely made it out of the security booth ahead of the police, and while the puzzled expressions she imagined on their faces when they found the booth empty and all the monitors filled with static warmed her heart, Chuckles had been slurring pretty bad before he got in the trunk. She swung the wheel, and her tires squealed as she took the spiraling ramp at about double the suggested speed.

When Chuck didn't have something snarky to say over the radio about her rough treatment, she risked taking one hand off the wheel to key her throat mic. "You okay back there Chuckles?"

There was no answer. "Sarah, talk to him," Carina said.

"Chuck?" Sarah's voice said in Carina's ear. "Chuck Bartowski, you answer me!" Nothing. "Dammit! Carina, I'm at... Gray and 24th, and I need a pickup."

"Fast as I can, Blondie," Carina said, and yanked her radio headset off her head, snatched open the glove box and stuffed it inside. She spun the wheel again as they came out of the ramp to find a police cruiser half-blocking the street exit. Carina bit her lip and flicked her hair out of her face, slamming on the brakes. She poked her head out the window. "I saw somebody run this way!" she shouted, pointing. "Come on, get out of the way!"

One of the police officers stood half in-half-out of the open cruiser's door. "Who the hell are you?"

She waved her credentials. "DEA! Come on, they're getting away!"

The cop visibly wavered, and then came to a decision, sat back down and slammed his car into reverse to clear the way for Carina's stolen car. She rocketed out of the parking garage and turned away from where the police were finishing their perimeter. After a moment, the police cruiser's lights and sirens filled her rear-view mirror. "Shit..." Carina growled and swerved around a slow-moving vehicle, scanning left and right. What street had Walker said? The redhead piled on the brakes and winced. She was probably really doing a number on Chuck in the trunk, but she didn't have much choice if she was going to sell this.

The police cruiser pulled up alongside. "What's up?" the patrolman shouted.

Carina pointed. "I think they split up!" she said. "Two white males, blond I think. One of them had a blue hoodie. I'll circle the block and— hey, you got a spare radio?"

The police officer nodded and tossed a handheld through the window to Carina. She handled the equipment like the professional she was, selling the idea that she wasn't involved in anything but a coincidental manner. "Thanks. I'll be on channel seven!" Carina said, and yanked her stolen sedan into a savage turn down Gray Street.

Carina kept checking her rear-view mirror; if that patrol car turned after her, she'd have to do some more fast thinking, but no, it looked like they'd taken the bait. Carina spotted Walker jogging toward her after a couple of blocks and grumbled a curse under her breath as she pulled to a halt. Sarah leaned in the open passenger window. "He's still not answering on the radio," Walker said, and glanced in the back seat. "Where is he?" she said, sudden fear getting the better of her.

"Trunk," Carina explained, checking her mirrors for what seemed like the millionth time. Sarah nodded at that logic.

"You used your DEA ID to get through the perimeter?" She surmised. Carina nodded, and Sarah shed her brunette wig. "Here, then, time to switch it up," Sarah said. "Redheads are noteworthy."

Carina managed something approaching her usual grin. "Don't I know it. Now get in, make sure your boy's alright." The trunk popped open and Sarah's face turned grim.

Sarah shoved the gun case into the trunk behind Chuck and slid in next to him before hauling the lid closed. She grabbed his face in both hands in the dark and felt her way around to his throat. His pulse was steady, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed almost as if it was the first breath she'd taken in hours, though her training had seen to it that she kept steady as she ran to meet up with Carina and her stolen car. The rest was up to her friend, really, to get them out of this mess.

Sarah put that thought out of her mind. Right now, she needed to work. She fumbled in her pockets for her pocket Maglite flashlight, played it around the interior of the trunk, and reached around Chuck to retrieve the small first aid kit from its pocket in the outside flap of her gun case. It was awkward to get at, and Sarah growled in frustration. She wasn't going to waste time scrabbling in the dark. Instead she plunged her hand into her back pocket and came out with her folding knife, sliced the beginning of a rift in the hem of her blouse and tore a long strip from the thin linen to use as a tourniquet. She had to stop that bleeding; all else was secondary.

* * *

Chuck drifted back to consciousness slowly, felt soft sheets under him and blinked his eyes open. There was a weight across his chest and a familiar mop of luscious blond hair nestled just under his chin. He felt a grin spreading across his face, until he glanced up and found Carina leaning against the door-frame. He blinked and tried to fit her into the tableau, but memory was slow coming back completely.

He frowned and waited while the pieces shuffled into place in his head. "We got away, then?"

Carina arched an eyebrow. "Yeah... you're welcome. Glad you're not dead," Carina said. "Seriously, do you have any idea the magnitude of what I would have had to deal with if you'd bought it, Bartowski?"

He nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I think I've got an inkling. How long was I out?"

Carina shrugged. "A few hours, I had the news coverage on this clusterfuck on in the other room. Just made me depressed, so I turned it off."

"That bad?" Chuck asked, and Carina nodded, still leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She'd barely moved the whole time they spoke. "Right, standard waking up from a blackout question I neglected before: where are we?"

Carina snorted and flipped her hair out of her face. "DEA safe house out in the suburbs. We ditched the car and put you in the back of my Hummer. By the way, you owe me six hundred bucks to get the blood out of the upholstery."

Chuck snorted a laugh. "I think I've got that in my wallet, let me just," he instinctively moved to reach for it with his right hand, and groaned.

"Yeah, you probably don't wanna do that, Chuckles," Carina said. "We got some Tylenol-3 down you, but that was a couple hours ago."

"Tylenol what?" Chuck said.

"The kind with codeine, which, strictly speaking is evidence in an ongoing investigation, but nobody's going to miss a couple tablespoons out of a whole damn pallet of the stuff."

Chuck winced, but this time not from the pain. "You shouldn't have done that," he said. "You already stuck your neck out for us more than I'm really happy with."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Walker said the same thing, like twenty times." Then she shrugged. "This was, of course, before she collapsed on top of you."

"Speaking of," Chuck said, "think we should wake her?"

Carina frowned in thought. "Maybe. Then again, when she sees you're awake, she'll probably hug you so hard you bust your stitches, but it's up to you..."

"Stitches? Was my hand really that bad?" Chuck asked in confusion.

Carina shook her head and rolled her eyes. "No. You took one in the love handle," she said, demonstrating the placement of the wound with a finger to the outside of her own hip.

Chuck's jaw dropped. "I... what? I got shot? When did I get shot? I think I'd remember getting shot!"

The DEA agent shrugged eloquently. "It's a flesh wound, little more than a graze really, but you were probably in shock a little bit, that and all the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it's not a surprise you weren't aware of it, as bad as your hand got torn up."

"Still!" Chuck said, "that's... you're not just messing with me? I really got shot?" Sarah stirred a little at his raised voice and Chuck grimaced. He'd meant to let her sleep a little more, but he recognized this level of stirring. Sarah was well on her way back to consciousness, and though he did have methods of coaxing her back to sleep, he didn't particularly want to whisper sweet nothings into her ear with Carina standing watch.

"Nice job, Chuckles, you woke the sleeping dragon," she said.

Sarah thrust herself up suddenly to stare down at him, eyes bright. She grinned toothily when she saw him conscious. "Hey..." he said.

She plunged back down and kissed him soundly enough that Carina cleared her throat. "You two want me to leave?"

Sarah pulled away and tugged her hair forward over her burning ears. Then, her embarrassment faded and she peered down at him consideringly, arching an eyebrow. "You feeling up to it?" she whispered.

Chuck blushed and fought back a fit of nervous coughing. "Well..." he said. "I _have _been shot." It was the wrong thing for him to have said, Chuck realized, as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Her eyebrows lowered and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yes. Yes, you have," Sarah growled and jabbed a finger into his sternum. "Never. Again."

"Yeah, but..." Chuck started. Sarah arched an eyebrow incredulously. "I mean..." he tried to backpedal furiously. "Yes, never again getting shot. Absolutely, not a fan. Carina, help!"

The redhead laughed from the doorway. "Oh, no, I'm not getting involved in married people issues. You're on your own, Charlie."

Chuck swallowed and searched for some topic of conversation to defuse the situation. He failed to find one that wasn't fraught with danger, but plunged on anyway. "So, how bad is my hand? I didn't lose any fingers did I?"

Sarah's stern expression shifted, just a little bit. "No," she said. "Just a lot of cuts, a couple deep enough I'm a little worried about nerve damage. It'll probably be a few months before they heal all the way." It was odd just how quick she could turn from angry angel of scariness, to concerned angel of mercy and comfort.

Chuck shifted, trying to sit up, and groaned. His hip really hurt, and that was the first he'd really felt from that region as far as pain went. It was odd. Sarah peeled herself off him and helped him sit up without straining his stitches. "So, do we know what happened?"

Carina grunted. "You tell us," she said. "The way Blondie tells it, you had everything under control until the Secret Service busted in and started shooting each other."

Chuck nodded and Sarah shuffled around to hug him from the side and tuck herself back into him protectively. "Yeah, one of the Secret Service guys worked for the Ring, and turned on his partner; then, all hell broke loose."

Sarah pulled away long enough to fix him with a puzzled stare. "What! That's... that's crazy. Wasn't Berentz working for the Ring himself?"

"That's what I thought," Chuck said. "Maybe he was just the fall-guy?"

"Hang on, time out," Carina made a 'T' with her hands. "The Ring? I heard about them. Some CIA guy went all suicide bomber on them, wiped out the leadership. They're done; kaput; game, set, match: CIA."

Sarah shook her head. "Not exactly. The bomb only got three out of the five Elders. Before we ran, Beckman said some new Russian was trying to take them over. I heard a couple names bandied about, but none of them really made an impression. Vol-something."

Carina grinned skeptically. "Not Voldemort, is it?"

Sarah scowled. "I doubt it. I don't really remember. Volkam? Volkrum? No, that's not it."

Chuck blinked. "Volkoff," he said, "When I was in Chicago with those Russians who were trying to crash all those planes, I overheard them talking about the guy who hired them. Volkoff. That was it."

Sarah sighed. "That's it. Dear God, he was trying to take out the leftover Ring Elders."

"That's a bit of a leap, Walker," Carina said. Sarah glared at her. "What?"

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Bartowski, not Walker."

Carina rolled her eyes. "What_ever,_ still a big reach."

"No, it fits," Sarah said. "This guy —Volkoff? — tries to kill the last Ring Elders in a huge and intimidating fashion, crashing airliners together, wasn't that what you said?" Chuck nodded along.

"Yeah," he said, "you may be right. I stopped their plans, and so he goes back to the drawing board, tries to co-opt their people, take control of whatever they called their little cabal through more subtle means. We've been out of the loop for a few months, though, but if we imagine Berentz worked for the Ring, I mean, the leftover Elders, then the Secret Service agent... Newton. Yeah, he must have been sent by Volkoff to stop the assassination."

Carina frowned and shook her head. "Another huge leap, Chuck," she said, "why would the Ring try to kill the president? How does that benefit them? And why does Volkoff want to stop it?"

Chuck shrugged. "I don't know, maybe they're getting desperate?"

Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "How do we know the president was really the target?"

Chuck stared at her for a moment. "What are you talking about?" he said, then glanced nervously at Carina before he remembered they'd spilled the Intersect beans to her. "I flashed on Berentz; the plot was to kill the president."

"Four months ago the plan was to kill the president. A lot can change in that amount of time," she said. "Carina, does this place have Tivo, or a DVR or something?"

Carina grinned. "You've just had a brainstorm, I know that look."

"Me too," Chuck said, "spill."

"Alright, you think you're okay to stand?"

Chuck grunted. "One way to find out."

With Sarah's help, he managed to lever himself to a standing position, though he tried not to lean too heavily on her. Still, she insisted on looping his arm around her shoulders and having Carina stand on his other side ready to grab him if he wavered. It took longer than he expected to make it down the hall to the living-room. They were in a modest house in the suburbs.

"DEA safehouse, you said?" Chuck asked.

Carina nodded. "Yeah, they bought it off the books with some seized funds. "Pretty good neighborhood, and except for me and the regional supervisor, I don't think anybody even remembers this place exists."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Regional supervisor?"

"His son's cute," Carina said and darted ahead to toss Sarah the remote.

Sarah caught it deftly in her free hand before helping Chuck sit down on the couch. She turned on the TV and found the news stations, flicking through them haphazardly. Most were showing the aftermath of their shootout at the hotel, with little sound-bites about the aborted presidential speech. Few channels bothered showing any footage from the plaza where the speech was to have been made.

"What are we looking for?" Carina said impatiently.

"Hang on," Sarah said, "I think, yeah... listen up."

—The newscaster was flipping through a sheaf of papers under the desk. This was obviously a new bit of information. "Apparently," the woman said. "One aspect of the speech was to announce a staffing change, with a new Presidential National Security Advisor being named, an Air Force Brigadier General Diane Beckman."

The other newscaster cut in with the tagline for the evening. "Well, Monica, I guess she's got her work cut out for her."—

Sarah employed what Chuck had come to recognize as the 'I told you so,' grin.

Chuck let out a sigh. "Yeah, that does explain a few things. If Beckman's doing a good enough job without us that she's getting promoted _and _somebody's trying to knock her off, whether it's the Ring remnants or this Volkoff guy... do we know for sure if it's a guy?"

Sarah shrugged. "Assume away, the Russian underworld is still pretty sexist. I doubt many women over there would have the network needed to put the kind of pressure on the Ring that would make them desperate enough to go after Beckman herself."

"Okay," Chuck said. "where was I?"

"Hell if I know," Carina said.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Right, no matter who it was that Beckman was putting the pressure on that got her far enough to have a hit put out on her, if there's some kind of power play going on behind the scenes in the Ring, the other side probably likes Beckman right where she is, messing things up for the other guys, whoever they might be."

Carina crossed her arms and chewed her lip. "I hate to admit it, Sarah, but your boytoy's got a point."

Sarah grinned. "Well, I didn't just marry him for his looks."

Carina arched an eyebrow dubiously. "Anyway... if we're right, what do we do? Call Beckman? Warn her? I know that probably messes things up for you two... so if you just want to let it lie...?"

Sarah shook her head. "Granted, I'm not going to join the woman's fan club any time soon, but I don't want to see her dead... most of the time..." she glanced at Chuck.

He shrugged. "Carina's probably right. We should call in, but we can be smart about it. Didn't the deputy CIA ops guy want to put us to work at Langley _together? _Maybe we call him instead of Beckman."

Carina nodded. "Well, as long as you've got a plan, leave me out of it. One day of aiding and abetting is my limit."

Sarah glanced at her watch. "Do you mind dropping us at a rental car place? We left our wheels in Cincinnati."

"One condition," Carina said after a moment's thought, "I want a Christmas card. And baby pictures once the little hellion busts out of there," she pointed at Sarah's belly, "for my scrapbook."

Sarah shook her head. "That's impossible. There's no secure way to get them to you without giving away our... wait, _scrapbooking_? Really?"

"Come on Walker," Carina protested, "you just foiled a major assassination plot while fugitives from... okay not 'Justice'... but I've seen Chuckles work. I'm sure you can figure out a way to email me anonymously, can't you? I promise I won't squeal."

Chuck considered it for a moment. "Yeah, probably," he said, "the encryption key will be... walkertowski."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I want you out of my safehouse as soon as possible."

EPILOGUE

Sarah flew a circuitous route back to Arizona, stopping in several cities, mostly just to refuel. Really she was thinking through the best way to go about reestablishing contact with the CIA, explaining the fact that she was off the grid with... well, really she didn't know what the CIA thought Chuck was—rogue, AWOL, something else entirely she hadn't thought of— and there was the whole pregnancy issue. Unbelievable as it was, she was starting to show already, and her first trimester wasn't even over.

Chuck sneaked off to a department store the second night after they left Cincinnati to find her a pregnancy book and confirm that her early baby-bump wasn't outside the realm of possibility, considering her slender frame. They ended up driving to Yellowstone to make the call, and Sarah did all of the talking, officially lying to the CIA and claiming she'd just received an email from Chuck. Sarah didn't think that would really hold up, but DDO Myers would probably be in the mood to forgive a lot of things when she offered to bring back the Intersect. He even agreed right away to her and Chuck staying off the grid for the duration of her pregnancy—and Chuck's own recovery from the deep cuts into the muscle of his hand he'd suffered during his brief time hanging onto a steel cable for dear life, but she hoped to keep that a secret if she could— and put her in touch with some tech guy from S&T to set up a new secure protocol.

It took a few weeks to get everything set up at the house in Clarkdale; Chuck had to raid the local Radio Shack stores for parts to build his own STE from scratch after he flashed on the plans. Once they got the secure, anonymized voice linkup, she suffered a new surprise.

Chuck's head perked up when the S&T guy's voice came through. "Thanks Agent Jones," Sarah said into the speakerphone.

"No problem, Agent Walker. It's a pleasure to be working with you, even if it's a little bit out of the ordinary. Your reputation precedes you."

"Jones..." Chuck mused. "That wouldn't be Ron 'Jesus' Jones, would it?" he said. "Stanford, class of 2003?"

"What? Wait a second," Jones said. "I recognize that— _Chuck Bartowski?_ _You're _agent Carmichael! No eff-ing way! Who recruited you?"

Chuck shrugged, even though they didn't have the video feed working yet. "Probably the same as you," he said, "Bryce."

Jones' voice was more subdued after that. "Yeah, me too. I heard about him dying."

Chuck managed a grin. "Which time?"

Sarah smiled sadly and put an arm around Chuck's waist in a one-armed hug.

Jones laughed, and they reminisced briefly about their fallen friend. Finally Jones couldn't contain himself. "So, uh... no offense Agent Walker... but Chuck, you really knocked up the famous Agent Walker?"

Sarah grinned. "Not knocked up. We're married."

Jones laughed harder. "That just makes it more impressive. Nice pull, Bartowski."

Chuck grinned in Sarah's direction. "He ain't wrong."

* * *

When they got the video up and Chuck was satisfied with their security protocols, Chuck and Sarah's first Christmas as husband and wife had come and gone, and Valentine's Day was looming only a few days down the road. Chuck had started putting it off, but finally relented, out of a desire not to spoil their plans for the 14th. When the familiar triple beep came out of the speakers, Chuck shivered.

Beckman scowled at them as stern as ever. The screen was split by a thin black line down the center, and Casey filled the right side of the screen.

"Agent Walker," Beckman started without bothering with any kind of greeting. " Abducting an asset like Chuck—"

Well, if she wasn't going to bother with manners, why should he. "Actually general," Chuck cut in over the general, "I left on my own, and made contact with Sarah after—"

Casey leaned forward in his chair. "Quiet, Bartowski!" he barked. It was difficult to read his mood, having been away from the gruffest member of the team for several months.

"At any rate, Agent Walker," Beckman went on, ignoring the byplay, "your behavior here is not far short of treason, and..."

Chuck cleared his throat, nudged Sarah surreptitiously, and she nodded raising a hand to forestall the general. "Um, actually General Beckman, it's Agent Bartowski... now." Chuck and Sarah both raised their left hands and flashed their wedding rings and best smiles. The CIA should send over the paperwork on my change in marital status today or tomorrow. Admittedly, it's a little overdue. If you're curious, General, you should be able to find our marriage certificate on file at the Office of the San Diego Justice of the Peace, under Bartowski. It would have been filed..." Sarah paused long enough to read from their copy of the document. "Monday, the 23rd of July at 4 pm."

Beckman and Casey's jaws dropped open in unison, almost mirror images of astonishment.

"You got married? How, we've been monitoring for any new paperwork with any of your known aliases..."

"We filed it under our real names," Chuck put in, "long before we ran off."

"Ugh," Casey said. And then his eyes widened as he did the math. "The twenty-third of July? At Comic-con?" The Colonel wrinkled his nose. "'Midnight snack,' my foot! Ugh! I really didn't need to know that."

"Casey, we didn't—" Chuck started.

"No, shut up Bartowski," Casey growled. I'm going to have to live with the mental image after the tapes I saw anyway, I don't want you filling in any blanks."

Sarah gave an exasperated sigh and stood up, her swollen belly filling the screen. Beckman and Casey both pulled away from their monitors in shock. She pointed to her obvious pregnancy. "This is from the first time we had sex, Casey, the day before I left LA, in my apartment which shouldn't have been under surveillance anyway, so shut up about the damn surveillance tapes!" And so, they had lied on the official record again, but what was one more time?

There was brief, insistent whispering on the Bartowski end of the conversation. Eventually Sarah sat down, still disgruntled. She folded her arms across her chest.

Beckman was still struck speechless, but started gathering herself. Sarah beat her to the punch. "My vacation runs out in a few weeks, and I've already sent in the request for maternity leave to the DDO."

"Does the DDO know that your vacation is being spent with a rogue operative?"

"Rogue? How am I a rogue operative? I went off the grid due to a panic signal from my NSA handler, and I'm calling in now that it's safe to do so, which Sarah cleared with the CIA."

"Bartowski..." Casey growled.

"Yeah? What is it Casey?" Sarah said, eyebrows raised in innocent astonishment, grinning brightly. She'd been waiting for the opening for _months_.

Casey's face on the screen vibrated for a moment, his expression one of mingled disbelief and rage. Now, there were two of them, and they— and then he cut his feed, leaving them with Beckman.

"If you two are quite finished taunting Colonel Casey with your relationship?"

Sarah and Chuck glanced at each other briefly, and then back to the general.

"Okay, we've got one more if you could get him back online?" Chuck said, "and then we're through, I promise."

Beckman let her head drop into her hands in abject misery. Her usual bluster was obviously not working on either of them. Walker seemed completely immune to anything she might have to say, and Bartowski was obviously enjoying it.

"Why did you call, Agent Bartowski? You're only leading us right to you."

"Actually, General. I think you'll find that... you know what, sure, why _don't_ you send a strike team to wherever your tech guys tell you my IP is coming from. I think the President will be really interested in your reasoning."

"What are you on about, Bartowski?"

The phone on Beckman's desk started ringing.

"You'd better get that," Chuck smirked.

Beckman scooped the phone from its cradle, and listened for a moment before sighing heavily, and glaring at Chuck. She slammed the receiver down.

"You routed the call through a White House computer. How the hell did you... The Intersect."

"Sorry, General." Sarah interjected, "but that was all my Chuck." With maybe a little help from Jones in S/T at Langley, but _she_ didn't need to know that.

"_Your_ Chuck," Beckman repeated, eyes darting from one to the other, still awkward in her disbelief. "So, just for curiosity's sake, when we do eventually get authorization to trace the IP through the White House network, where will you be leading my techies next on their merry way?"

"Oh, I've no idea. The worm mutates as it spreads, so it could be anywhere, really. About half the government's internet connected computers are infected as of now, what with all the DOD computers and databases I've had access to. I guess I shouldn't have told you that, but it'll still be a bitch to find on every system you have. Look, General, I don't have anything against being a field agent, really, and I know Sarah loves her job, but we both felt that having the Intelligence community trying to break up our marriage was an untenable situation. And besides—"

"Chuck, let me take it for a minute. With the baby on the way though, we figured that wouldn't be as big of an issue because we're both basically going to be sidelined anyway... so, here's the sales pitch, and by the way, we already ran this by Myers, and he's on board, so this is really just a courtesy call. You're back on, Chuck."

Beckman's mouth had fallen open slightly, but she couldn't seem to muster her usual stern countenance. "Our conferences like this are already some of the most securely encrypted communications in the world, and I figured, it'd be pretty simple on your end to multiplex the signal. You can dump a whole mess of data down the line to me: intelligence briefings, Intersect updates, that sort of thing, the stuff I used to do in Castle, when we weren't in the field. You'll still have access to the human Intersect and be able to send people out on all the missions like you like to do. I think despite the skill-set that the Intersect 2.0 gave me, I'd still prefer to be on the _not_-killing people end of things if at all possible. We'll give you some time to think it over."

"Don't call us, we'll call you," Sarah said, ending the call.

THE END

* * *

A/N: Of course, by 'the end' I don't mean, the end of this Season 3 AU, but merely the end of the (somewhat lengthier than originally envisioned) _Chuck & Sarah vs Themselves. _If you haven't done so already, now is the time to check out the story to which this story is the prequel, _Chuck & Sarah vs the Bunker. _

And, keep an eye out for the sequel to _that, _the tentatively titled _Chuck & Sarah vs the Recruits_, which will be the last full length story in this AU.

For readers of my other currently ongoing story, _Chuck vs the Frontier, _know that I'll probably try to finish _Frontier _before committing to the writing of _Recruits._

I'd like to take this moment to thank my beta, _daywalkr82,_ once again for the amount of work he's put in. Copy-editing is a huge endeavor especially on a story this size (over 200k words), and as I have no money with which to pay him for his pro-bono work on my behalf, he's making do with kudos. So, thanks, one more time.


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